Dust to Dust
by Quillweave
Summary: A young woman finds herself caught in a web of love, family, betrayal and madness, and tries to weave her own story from it all. (Updated and edited version with new content, 2019.)
1. Chapter One

My first memory is of my own tiny hands swallowed in another's, pounding on the taut hide of a drum as flickers of magicka danced around us. Warm arms around me, the roughness of my teacher's burlap collar tickling my neck, murmuring encouragement as the flickers of light grew stronger.

I remember my fists thrumming from the power of the drum's calls as his belly-laugh made bass, Nordic rhymes echoing with the scent of tobacco and mead. The wind whistled through straw-stuffed holes, delicious thrills of cold shocking me when they would find us, warmed quickly again by the blazing fire.

"Gabby," my teacher would chuckle, capturing my hands again as I would flail gleefully. "Not so fast 'er, cub. Remember words, too, eh?"

I would giggle and concentrate, teeth sinking into my lip as the spell blossomed and bloomed again. When I began to yawn and whine he would laugh again, raising a bristly brow and hoisting me over his shoulder. _'He wouldn't have crossed the room,' _mum told me, _'before you'd be sound asleep in his arms.' _

A light spell. The first spell I ever learned, with the guidance of my first teacher.

Falrung Spark-Eater, my family's dearest friend in the hovels of old High Rock. A bear of a man, gold-maned with a wide grin and hair he would always let me braid. With a lap enough for both my sister and I, we would sit together, Anya rocking and cooing to her corn dollie while mum, papa and Falrung would talk into the night. On the coldest of nights we would stay together there until dawn, abandoning our hay beds for the warmth of the fire. Even without my bed or blanket mum's gentle whispers and papa's hand in my hair was enough to send me to sleep.

"Gabriel. Wake up, sweet."

"Mmmf." I grumbled, curling into a tight ball and shrugging away the hand on my shoulder. "'Still sleepy."

"Your father is here."

"Papa?" I blinked, untangling myself from the blanket. Anya yawned, mum sighed and smiled. I rubbed at my sleep-crusted eyes, soothing away the sting of a restless night. "Maman, 'm tired."

"You had bad dreams again, Gabby?" Mum tutted, smoothing a cool hand over my brow. "Maybe papa can help next time. Come on, then. Anya?" Mum moved past me, giving my sister's ruffled hair a playful tug. "Up, girls, don't keep him waiting."

Our bare feet padded across the dirt floor, the door bursting open just as we met it. Anya jumped into papa's arms as I watched, blinking at the potions in his arms before moving to him and clawing at his tunic. "Up! Me too, papa!"

"You, too." Pa grinned, hair snow spotted and cheeks ruddy as he hoisted me up in his other arm. His smile was always bright, and I remember how smooth his cheeks were compared to Falrung's. He smelled of something dusty and chemical, like tombs and old flowers, his wiry hands capturing my sister's and mine to give a gentle squeeze. I went wide-eyed at the curl of rope over his shoulder, reaching for the basket and potions it held.

"Stop it, Gabby." My sister reproached, her lips in a pout as she leaned to my father's cheek for a kiss. We competed fiercely for our father's attention in the little time he was home - I still nursed a bruise on my arm from our last little fight. I leaned in, too, kissing his other cheek and reaching again for the dangling basket.

"My, such love I get." Papa chuckled, sliding us off and turning to mum, moving the tempting potions from my little hands again. "From the chapel – I made a few extra. Sell them in the market."

Mum only nodded, glancing up and down my father with a strange twist of a frown. "Of course. Get dressed, Anya." My sister raced off, grabbing her clogs for the trip into the busy cobble roads of town. I stepped forward, moving to my father's leg and pressing close, smiling to myself as he rubbed my hair.

Mum watched as Anya dressed then turned to us, her arms crossed, hair loose and dangling inky black around her shoulders. Her eyes cast onto me, then papa, chin raised. "Is Spark-Eater coming by tonight?"

"Yes. When we get back from the chapel."

My neck bristled, because something didn't feel right - there was no warmness between them, no laughter. Mum's laugh had become harder and crackly, like snow crunching underfoot, since Falrung taught me how to cast that flickering light spell. I tapped the same nervous beat with my fingers, shielding my fears in the rough warmth of papa's leg until his hand gently moved me away. "You get dressed too. I don't have long."

I obeyed, grabbing my own clothes and changing quickly, trying to ignore the niggling sense that something was wrong. Anya skipped ahead of me, moving to mum's side and taking the basket of spools and buttons by the door as mum shouldered the potions. She and Anya went to town to do odd jobs, helping the seamstress or laundress, finding coin where they could. I worked with papa.

To me she smiled, lowering her head to give me a gentle kiss on my brow. "Goodbye, chérie. Listen and learn well."

I waved goodbye as mum and Anya left, papa gazing after her with a snow-fall quiet sigh until he reached for my hand. I took his and frowned as I followed him down the street, a feeling worse than itchy clothes wriggling in my stomach. I fretted, whining quietly until papa glanced down at me, his warm hand tightening as the wind blew our footsteps away. "What is it?"

With a shock, I realized, and jumped with clenched fists. "You forgot. You, to kiss maman goodbye today, you _forgot."_ I whimpered, gazing up at him and biting my lip at his strange, broken smile.

"It's alright, sweet." He murmured, leading me on to the stone steps of the chapel. "I'll give her an extra one tonight."

"Tonight." I frowned. "Is Falrung gonna be home?"

"Falrung? Yes, he'll be coming. With his stories." Papa grinned then, truly grinned, reaching down to gather me and pressing his shoulder against the great chapel door. "And you'll pour the mead, won't you?"

I giggled, wriggling until I could close my arms around him and play with the feathery wisps of hair at the back of his neck. "Yes!"

"And make it sweeter for us. Good girl." He kissed my brow, shadows falling around us as the chapel door fell shut. I never did find there comfort as papa did. The echoing halls, the imposing altar and cold, unfeeling glass eyes gazing down from the stained windows. The one place of wealth in our village of the poor and sick. Papa told me the chapel had come first, dedicated to Stendarr and his mercy, and the people had come here seeking him.

It bothered me, even then. If they came for mercy from Stendarr, why was it _papa _who worked so hard? Why couldn't I have him to myself?

Papa led me downstairs. This place had once been the catacombs, but now many of the stone slabs had patients atop them. There was nowhere else for them to sleep, the other beds long filled.

Our footsteps seemed terribly loud in here, making me cling all the tighter to papa's hand. There were more today, weren't there? Maman was still teaching me how to count – I'd get excited and trip up over my numbers – but I could tell there were many more. Still papa only smiled down at me, giving me a ruffle of my hair. "Ready, Gabby?"

"Yes!"

The sharp, musky smells of astringent and Jehenna's sheep made me crinkle my nose by my father's side, watching as he took a skein of clean wool and poured a potion in. Papa sighed as he wrung the excess clean – contents back in the bottle, not a drop wasted - and smoothed away ratty blankets from a frail patient's back. The man's shoulders lay bare, sharp and liver-spotted, raw and blistered. He gave a cry when papa pressed the medicine against his back, hand down on the cloth and glowing with the pale white-gold of healing magic.

"Rest, friend. You're safe here."

"Whe-where?" The old man croaked, trying to turn, but only managing to helplessly flop his head on the thin cloth.

"The Chapel of Stendarr. His mercy be upon you."

"Jacques." A smile bared his near toothless gums, the remaining teeth black. "Old friend. Always taking care of me." He coughed, chest heaving, eyes bulging out of his head as my father clapped him on the back. "Eugh. And your little girl." His eyes crinkled, the hand reaching for my cheek. I drew away, but father's hand on my back stilled me. "So good – so good to see."

"No more talking, George." Papa gently reprimanded. "You need to rest. Say goodbye, Gabby."

I swallowed, staring at the old man as he fell back, his breath drawn as though through grit. "Bye."

Many of papa's patients were the same – old or sickly, beggars and outcasts who came here seeking Stendarr's healing mercy, unable to find it anywhere else. I stood solemnly by his side as he administered healing to them all, handing him linens and potions, trying not to show my impatience until we were done at last. Papa caught my fidgeting fingers in his warm hand, chuckling quietly as he led me from the catacombs to the hidden room he called his hideaway, hidden behind the paneling of an empty shelf.

'_Once,'_ he told me, _'This room was full of treasures. Gifts people gave in gratitude to Stendarr. The chapel used them to build that beautiful altar upstairs. Now it has our treasures instead.'_ I loved that story, loved knowing now that papa kept _his_ treasures in there, treasures I could touch and play with and learn. The panel creaked open to release air cool and musty, glasses shimmering eerily on teetering shelves and herbs hanging in braids from the ceiling to dry over a paper scattered desk.

"Here we are." Papa smiled, dragging over a tiny stool Falrung had made for me and patting it. "Come on."

I licked my lips, sliding my fingers over the cool curves of carved wood, bears roaring and deer dancing, before clambering on. Papa wound his arm around me, brandishing a pretty yellow-petaled plant and tickling my cheek with it. "Now, what's this one, and what's it for?"

I grinned, grabbing it in my little hands, caressing the dried buds and smelling it before squeaking. "Genet! It's for, for making you _pee_!"

"That's right." Papa smiled wryly as he wrapped the plant in parchment. "Genet, or broom, stimulates urine production. Or makes you go pee," he teased. Another flower branched beneath his fingers, bristled and near cracking from months of careful drying. Purple, slipper-shaped buds, leaves reaching to papa's lap. "And this?"

"Um." I bit my lip, fidgeting.

"What's your favorite drink?" He asked, petting the plant.

"Oh! Um. Milk - Milkwort." I nodded solemnly as papa reached for another stem, our game continuing.

This was the treasure papa shared with me – his craft, and his time. To me it was a game, precious time I could spend with my father not divided with mum or Anya or ailing patients. The echoing sounds of the catacombs followed us – the footsteps of the other healers or the chapel's priest, moans and whimpers from the sick, but otherwise it felt like our own little world.

In between letting me guess, he'd work. Every part of it fascinated me – how he'd separate tiny slivers from slivers, seeds from pods. How he'd crush and powder and mix and make something completely new, every time. We stayed well into evening as papa worked on his potions and taught me names before washing his hands and scooping me up again.

"Come on, flower. Time to go home."

I yawned, nestling in the crook of his arm, listening to the sounds of him cleaning up. The wind outside had fallen to a gentle whisper, snowflakes drifting down and landing in papa's hair. I ran my fingers through his curls, snowflakes melting before I could catch them. Papa's hand played idly at the back of my neck as the winds lulled until a blast of warmth and woodsmoke greeted us.

"Jacques!" I snapped awake at the sound of Falrung's voice, giggling as I was trapped between them as they hugged. "And the 'lil cub. How's my bear-girl doing?"

I bared my teeth, growling. "I'm a bear! Bear-girl! _Rgggrr!"_

"By Ysmir, don't scare me like that!" He raised his hands, eyes wide in feigned shock. "Can the bear-girl use her big paws to pour our drinks while maman bear stokes the fire?"

"Yes!" I scampered down from papa's arms, grabbing the jug of mead and kneeling carefully over Falrung and papa's tankards. Both were the most precious things we owned, brought from Skyrim and cast polished brass with dragons twisting as a handle. I'd made the mistake of tasting it once – it didn't taste nearly as good as it smelled – but I loved getting to pour it for them, my own little job. Falrung's thick, hairy hands wrapped around the drinks, giving one to papa.

"Cheers, eh?" Falrung grinned, glancing at papa with a sweet warmth, one that made me tingle, made me think of happy maman. So now she would be happy, too – but she wasn't. She stayed by the fire, didn't even go over to give papa a hug.

Papa smiled back, shrugging off his coat and settling in his chair, taking a quiet Anya in his lap as their tankards clinked. "Cheers."

I remember little else of that night - settling into Falrung's lap, his hairy arms cradling me and his chest becoming my pillow. Hearing the raucous jokes - Falrung Skin-Beater, papa called him with a snicker - before maman scolded and hushed them. A hand playing with my hair, maman whispering something about me having problems sleeping and papa brushing it away. The smell of mead, the stark absence of maman's laugh and then dark, warm silence.

"Gabby?"

I roused slowly, curling on myself and nuzzling against Falrung's chest in a vain search for warmth. The silence was strange to me - no snores, no sounds of maman cleaning up or Anya rousing. Only her whisper, her hand gentle on my back. "Gabriel, chérie, wake up."

I grunted fitfully, twisting to try and share Falrung's warmth, but unable to find it. Blinking sleep sand from my eyes I moved my hands, pressing against him, listening for the comforting thump-thump of the drum in his chest I couldn't hear. Mum's hands wound around my waist, pulling me away.

"Falrung." I whined, twisting in mum's arms, confused and filled with belly-deep dread at the sudden, shocking silence and coldness of the world. "Wake up. Wake up."

"No, dear." Mum soothed, turning me away, nestling my head in the crook of her neck and petting my hair as I fretted. She held on tight, too tight even as I squirmed, as though more for her own comfort than mine. A tightness to her voice, making that dread go higher, hot and sick in my throat. "Shhh."

I caught Anya out of the corner of my eye, staring at papa, and grimaced in jealousy. A fierce wiggle and I was out of mum's arms and racing to her, my gaze moving from papa sleeping, to her, to papa again. I frowned, still childishly determined. "Papa. Papa, wake up, now, g'morning. Time t'wake up!"

Anya stared, eyes glassy at papa, her hand over his. I moved my hand, too, feeling a shiver at how cold his skin was. Her voice too felt strange, hollow and hurt. "He won't wake up_,_ Gabby. He's dead."

"Dead?" I echoed before mum spoke, sharply reproaching her and gathering me up, taking Anya's hand. Everything was too quiet, our home strangely empty. Our pots, those tankards I'd filled, even our corn dollies all suddenly gone – only papa and Falrung on their chairs, slumped in a facsimile of sleep and so very, terribly quiet.

"No!" I wrestled her with all my tiny might, confused, suddenly terrified by all this change, all this _wrong_. "You _forgot!_ Papa!" _Papa didn't kiss her. Is she mad? I poured the mead all wrong, all wrong, it's all wrong._ Mum hurried us outside where strange men in dark clothes waited.

I knew these men. They were from the chapel – papa made special potions just for them, to push away sickness that claimed the rest of us. When someone in the catacombs or out here in our cluster of hovels got too sick, too quiet, they came. Swept everything up and burned it all away.

"Dead this morning, ma'am?"

"Y-yes. I don't know how." Maman was crying. Why was she crying? She never cried, never let her pretty face scrunch up like this. "Jacques, my husband, he works – worked - with the ill."

"Then Stendarr will give him a warm blessing." One of the men looked at us, eyes sweeping over Anya and mum before settling on me, his lips pursed. "Do you have... somewhere to stay? To take the children? I'm sure the chapel - "

"Family," Mum cut off, her arm almost unbearably tight around me. "I have family who will help us. But thank you."

Murmurs as they passed by - consolations, regrets, the only word I truly understood was sorry. I whimpered. _Sorry. Sorry. I poured the mead. Bad mead. Bad me._ The door blew open in a gust of wind and I caught a cruel, final glimpse of papa's face and shrieked for him, reaching out over her shoulder.

_"Papa!"_

A final whisper from one of the men, carried on the wind – poor girl.

_Not a girl. Bear. Bear-girl._ I whimpered, cried, pounded my fists against maman's shoulders until I exhausted myself to sniffles and whimpers. It was a long, silent walk to the town, to the stables where more strange people awaited us. Where in hushed whispers and secretive glances a man swept maman into a hug, a papa-hug, and ushered us all into a carriage.

My last memory of my father, my true childhood home, is this. The sparse pines high and proud against a grey sky through the window of the carriage, the wind-whistle and smell of horse hair and oil, the pounding of hooves and the strange shrinking of all I'd ever known into a pinpoint of snow white and sleep black.

"So this is your youngest."

I jerked awake at the feel of a hand on my cheek, smooth and cool – making me think of papa, at first, but the face was wrong, all wrong. The hand brushed down the curve of my jaw, features – a neat goatee, dark eyes, a small smile swimming into view.

"She looks like you, _chérie_ Abelle." He leaned in close, eyes narrowed, frowning in thought. "I will take good care of you, _ma petite_."

_Papa._ I squirmed away and shuddered at the feel of mum's nails running through my hair. _I want papa, papa takes care of me._ _Not you. It's wrong, all wrong. Papa forgot. I did it wrong._ Fear and hysteria bubbled in me, clawing up my throat until I wailed. Maman cooed, Anya pinching my leg and telling me to hush. The strange man, with his clean beard and watery eyes, backed away.

"You all must be hungry and tired. Have a meal and rooms readied for them, Trudeau." Another man, the horse-man in green nodded as a wiry boy took the carriage away. I began to cry louder, wriggling in maman's grasp because it was _wrong_, we had to take the horsie and go back and get papa and Falrung, get rid of what Anya had called dead.

"Shh, Gabby. Look. Look, _mon chou_." I quieted to a whimper at the sound of maman's voice, a soothing murmur as we followed the strange man who had hugged her. "Look how pretty your new home is."

I followed her finger and gaped, my eyes going wide. It was as though from a storybook, spires silhouetted against grey slate, green roofs snow-dusted and white-washed beams stretching wide. _But home is home, home is._.. I whimpered again, nuzzling maman - the only steady, unchanged thing, it seemed - and whispered.

"I poured the mead. I did it _wrong."_

"No. _No,_ sweet, no." Mum's face twisted, eyes dark and fogged in grief. "You did nothing. It's all better, now."

In my childish mind, the only connection I could make between my papa and Falrung's death was that I poured the mead that night. That it was all somehow my fault. Anya didn't cry like I did - she was stone-faced, hated and aspired to in her seemingly mystical nine year old courage. When maman left us she stayed by me, quiet as we ate strange foods with richness that made my mouth water and tummy curdle. As women smelling of powders fussed over us, bathing us in hot water and dragging brushes through our tangled hair. As maman, ghostly and beautiful in a silk chemise, kissed us goodnight and left in the arms of the strange bearded man.

It was only when we were nestled in a new room, separated in twin beds on either side that she spoke. Murmuring, crossing the wide room to my bed and rubbing my back as I cried.

"It wasn't you."

I snorted, lifting my head from the warm dampness where I'd sobbed into my pillow. Anya hoisted herself over the side and up, her hair - soft, caramel brown like papa's - falling from its bindings.

"Don't cry."

She nuzzled beside me, pursing her lips and solemnly taking my hands in her own. She gazed at them, brow wrinkled in thought, before moving to kiss my cheek.

"Maman says everybody dies. Like flowers in winter. S'okay." She whispered. "Don't be scared. I'll protect you."

Though not moments ago I had hated her for being so quiet and strong when so much had changed, the sisterhood that made us by default despise each other also made us inextricably intertwined. I cuddled against her, crying softly until slumber overtook us both.

I dreamed of Falrung, and papa sinking under a suffocating winter coat of snow. I dreamed of the strange new man with his clean, waxed beard ripping up flowers. I dreamed of the mead turning green as I poured it, reeking of venom.

When my father and my dearest friend, my two teachers, died, I blamed myself for it. I did for many years after.

I was six years old.


	2. Chapter Two

"No, no, it's the fork first. Work_ inwards,_ remember, dear?"

I rolled my eyes as the Imperial woman spoke again, guiding my hands back to fold primly in my lap and rearranging the silverware I so venomously despised. _Soup spoon. Dessert spoon. Tea spoon. Who needs this many spoons!?_

"Now, try again. Shoulders back, good posture. Napkin folded in your lap, elbows off the table - and don't muss your sleeves. Go on."

"I don't _want_ to." I growled, crossing my arms and biting back a curse that had already gotten me in trouble once. My governess tutted behind me.

"Good young ladies do as they are told."

"I don't want to _be _a good lady!" I snapped, glaring at the center of the plate as though I could turn it to ashes if I stared hard enough. Madame Tucket hemmed behind me, clucking her tongue in the way only she could and leaning over the table, glaring down.

"So you want to be a bad lady? Lonely and unmarried, mm?" She moved her hands on her hips, brows raised. "End up a poor old spinster like me?"

_Bad? _I looked my nursemaid over - her plump, rouged cheeks, lips pursed, her hair whipped into a tight bun perched gingerly atop her head. Long nails that terrified me, a wrinkled brow, wide and stout and plain. _Were you ever bad? _

At the thought of becoming like her I grimaced, shifting back in my seat to return to my dreaded lesson on table etiquette. As she prompted and pushed for proper names and uses I felt a flicker of something inside – some memory yawning and perking up, making me smile a hidden smile. Flowers, instead of spoons.

With a reluctant sigh she dismissed me. I practically fled when the lesson ended, lifting up my skirts and racing down the echoing halls upstairs and towards the only place I now really thought of as home. The smells of leather and parchment and age welcomed me, books with fine bindings peering down upon the intruder as I moved past. I dragged my fingers over their spines, relishing their textures and feel, sliding two away and gathering them in my arms.

_Sovngarde_ and _Song of the Alchemists_. I smiled, cradling them close before laying them out on the desk, moving aside another book that made me frown – _The History of House Toltette. _

Stepfather - Marquis over these lands. Toltette. I refused to call him anything else. My mother's marriage to him was a betrayal to me. I took what little comfort I could in solitude, in skipping lessons on poise and tucking myself into the worlds Falrung and Papa introduced me to so long ago. I spent hours there, whispering spells, memorizing ingredients, stumbling over words and tracing the greying sketches of Nordic gods.

Not exactly the appropriate activities of a young noble girl, even an upstart. But I'd have it no other way. I clung to those pieces of my past, the freedom they afforded me to be myself.

"Gabriel!"

"Damn!" I leapt up, gathering my treasures and glancing wildly around the room. I could her the click of mum's feet in the hall, her summons for me that I scurried from. Under the desk? No, she caught me last time. I dashed to a shelf, slipping between it and the wall and wincing at the hollow thud as my back landed against it.

_Hollow?_

"Come along, Gabby, it's time for afternoon lessons. Don't keep Madame Tucket waiting!"

I pursed my lips, slipping onto my knees and dragging my hands over the wall section. There - my finger slipped on the tiniest crack. A panel! I caught my breath, pulling back, a flush of excitement dancing through my chest.

"Gabriel, you do _not_ want me to have to come find you_." _

_Well, now or never._ Grinning, I moved my books under my arm and pried the panel open. On hands and knees I clambered inside, closing the wall behind me just as the door outside opened.

"Gabby?"

Darkness. I crept inside, listening, shaking cobwebs that tangled in my hair. There wasn't much room - just enough to tuck myself in, my knees bent just so with my feet perched against the opposite wall. A perfect sanctuary. A haven, a -

_A hideaway._

I felt a sweet shiver as my father's words echoed in me, the smell of dried herbs and illness leaving me as soon as it came. A hideaway. Papa's had been a place of learning and healing, where he fostered my love for alchemy and the unknown, raised me amongst dried wormwood sprigs and glass bottles.

_Maybe..._

I tapped my fingers against my knee, the spell blooming in my mouth and flooding the nook with light. I squinted, drawing my book open with the other tucked at my side. Mum at last relented, the sound of her footsteps fading as I fingered the crisp pages of parchment.

Sneezing as dust swirled around me, I spread _Song of the Alchemists_ on my lap and began.

_"When King Maraneon's alchemist had yet to leave his station..."_

"Gabby, where have you been? What did you get into this time?"

Mum fretted over me as I sat by her side at dinner, fluffing my hair and grimacing at the puff of dust that fell from it. "Did you go _cobweb_ hunting? You missed your history lesson, too. Your father won't be pleased."

I bit back a scowl. _He isn't my father._

"That's so gross, Gabby." My sister scolded, glaring at me from across the table. Anya – a perfect image of my mother, always poised, always dutiful. "We _eat _here. You're going to get dust everywhere."

I opened my mouth to protest but mum spoke first, a shiver sliding down my skin at her words, her soft and bittersweet laugh.

"Dusty. Just like your father's name."

My real father, Jacques Dust. I mouthed the name. _Dust. _

_... I'll never take Toltette's name._

It was then, with my breath caught, that I knew.

"Good evening, Abelle." I glanced up as Toltette swept past, followed by the scent of ink and fine musk as he lay a chaste kiss on her brow. His gaze swept over us, eyes landing on me with a frown. "Children. Gabriel Toltette, you know better than to show up filthy to supper. Go and clean up immediately."

_Toltette._

I bit my lip, digging my nails into my palms until the word burst hot and sickly from my throat.

"No."

"No isn't an option, young lady."

"Don't call me Toltette. I'm Dust."

I heard mum's sharp intake of breath behind me, Toltette's brow raised and lips pursed.

"Your father's filthy name?" He whispered, dangerously quiet before his voice rose. "You would call yourself after a backwards -" his face flushed. "The man who chose a filthy Nord over his own _wife _– "

"Davide," Mum hissed, putting her hands over my ears as I went slack jawed.

Over his _wife?_

"She needs to know, Abelle!" Toltette hissed, eyes piercing through me. "He was a filthy scoundrel, dragging your mother into poverty, letting you rot in filth so he could stay with that Nord."

_Nord?_

_Falrung._

I shuddered, turning wide-eyed to my mum who watched Toltette with tightly pursed lips. Finally she snapped, voice raised and sharp as a slap. _"Enough!" _A deep breath and her composure returned, head tilting, eyes slowly closing. "Please, Davide. No more."

The room went silent. Anya stared, a forkful of mutton lowered back to the plate. Toltette's face turned a shade of sour milk.

"I apologize, dear. I lost my temper." He paused, gazing at mum with an a bow of his head before taking his place at the table. "I simply hoped the child I raised would respect me more than _him_._"_

"It's just a phase," mum murmured before we all went quiet again, our inner turmoil concealed in a family dinner. I excused myself as soon as I could and ran upstairs to my room, huddled on my bed with a book, hiding away from it all.

_Dragged us into poverty, let us rot in filth._

…_What did he mean?_

"Gabby?"

I tightened my grip on the book as though I could hold my attention to it better. Trying and failing to ignore Anya's soft voice, her footsteps behind me. "Go away."

"I'm sorry about what happened at dinner. Papa just loses his temper, you know that."

I bristled at that, at her calling him –_ him_, papa. She circled around and closed in, then put a hand on my book and pushed down, forcing me to meet her gaze.

"You know they just want to give us the best life they can."

"I _don't _know that." I tried to slam the book closed on her invading hand, but she was faster. Coolly she examined her nails, then looked pointedly back at me. A sigh.

"You're too little too remember, Gabby. What it was like before." She spoke softly, but firm – silk-clad steel, just like maman. Little wonder it had been so easy for her to accept this, over the years. "We were always hungry, always sick. It wasn't even a real village, just desperate people looking for help from the chapel."

"And papa did _help_ them." In contrast my voice was raw, cold and sharp in my throat. I put down the book and hugged myself tight. "He was a good man. They both were."

"They were." She smiled, took my hand_. Damn you_, I thought_. Damn you for being so strong and so untouchable_, even as she pulled me into a hug like she had when we were children. "It's complicated, what happened. But we've got a better life here. That's all maman ever wanted for us – and papa too, I bet."

A part of me knew she was right. We lived in comfort and luxury now, never wanting, never scraping by, never huddling in fear as plague or harsh winters decimated our world. But I couldn't accept it, not entirely. Anya sighed against my head, then laughed.

"You really wanna call yourself _Dust_?"

"Yeah." She sat beside me as I spoke, the high bed creaking under our weight. "I think – I like it. It was his. From the old days, he said, back in Skyrim." An inheritance of sorts, something tangible I could keep close to me even so long after his death.

"He said it was from his great grandfather Dustin, remember? From his ancestors in The Reach, when he was a boy. Because he was an alchemist like him, like his grandmaman. Like you probably will be." Only in private did this side show – Anya's crooked smirk, secret and mischievous. "All covered in dirt from picking flowers."

I managed a grin of my own, even through tears. "I'd rather be covered in dirt than lace and perfume anyway."

Prim and proper. "You certainly smell like it."

"_Ta gueule!"_ I grabbed a pillow and aimed for her head, and we spent the evening cleaning up the goose feather explosion that resulted. I was grateful for the distraction, grateful not to have to think on the hurt welling up inside until night fell and we separated, when my thoughts drifted back to papa again. An alchemist name – that settled it. I fell asleep on a deflated pillow with fists clenched and tears blinked back, the name held on my lips.

Mum thought it was a phase.

It wasn't.

I named myself, and more than ever I ran from my governess, from my lessons. I read as though starved, snuck into the kitchens and gardens to mimic concoctions, threw off the new responsibilities of a noble childhood whenever I could. When I asked mum the truth, she relented - papa, my dear father and Falrung were lovers in hiding. I wasn't too young to understand love, that my papa had somehow betrayed mum. That my childhood heros were entwined with deceit.

Still, I held them close, even as I extracted myself from the life maman had made here.

A new name. Renewed rebellion against who I was told to be. Gabriel Toltette had never existed, and Gabby died when she woke in Falrung's cold lap.

Maman had told me once, what my name meant. A blessing, she said, chosen by my father. 'Stendarr is my might.' Even then it was an irony I couldn't accept, knowing he had worked so hard and died anyway. That Stendarr had done nothing for him, and nothing for me.

No. Dust was my new name, my chosen name, one I kept close to my heart as I felt I could little else. It meant I belonged to no one but myself.


	3. Chapter Three

"Dust, come on!"

Spring.

Dewy grass slipped beneath me as I ran barefoot across the estate, past the manor and the servant's housing, past the paddocks. Spring had finally, really sprung, everything vividly green and welcoming as I breathed deep the balmy air, let my toes feel that soft, lush growth under my feet. So good to be allowed properly outside again, and the return of spring meant the return of –

"Hurry up, princess!"

Sirius. I grinned and caught up, sliding around the stable and catching a glimpse of bright red hair before he slipped into darkness. I scoffed, stopping just before the mildew warmth of the stable, careful to keep my feet firmly on the grass as I poked my head in and wrinkled my nose.

"You come out here."

"Nu-uh."

"I am not going in there barefoot. Mara knows what I could _step_ on."

"Princesses." A groan. I folded my arms over my chest in triumph as the boy emerged, then shrieked as he swept me up into his arms. "Sirius! Lemme _down_!"

"You said you didn't wanna step on anything. Why've you got no shoes?"

"Because silk shoes in wet grass is – oof!" I tumbled onto a pile of straw, pushing my hair out of my face to give him a glare. I couldn't hold it long. How could I in the face of that buck-toothed, freckled grin? He snickered, hands on his hips. He'd grown, in the past winter – it was like someone had taken each one of his limbs and pulled, stretching him out like taffy. I couldn't help myself – I burst into giggles, throwing a fistful of straw his way. "I missed you."

"Course y'did! I'm the only one who can get you free from lessons. I'll put down some fresh straw 'n we can go up to the loft."

True to his word he cleaned the stable – part of his job as the stableboy, of course, but also for my sake. I waited with a lazy contentment. The smell of horses and straw carried its own charm, the dim glow of sunlight streaking through cracks and the gentle snuff from horses lulling. When he was done and threw down his pitchfork with a grin I stalled, moving to a new foal with wide eyes and stroking her velvety muzzle as she whickered. "What's this one named, Sirius?"

"Aye?" I glanced until I caught a flicker of movement, and watched him move close out of the corner of my eye. He shrugged, scratching his head and scuffing a filthy boot "Dunno. Pretty filly, though. Week old, I think. Careful, her mum doesn't like you."

"Oh." I frowned, drawing back reluctantly from the sweet foal to glance nervously at the mare beside her stall, lip raised and teeth bared. "Sorry."

"Me or the horse?" Sirius laughed, grinning wide before pulling me further inside. "C'mere."

We chatted as we walked, catching up on the lost season he'd spent doing odd jobs off the grounds with his father. Who'd done what, new friends made and lost, the tasks he did and the lessons I endured. We made a strange pair - he, a teenage stableboy, and I, a noble child, but we were steadfast friends. He was too old to consider me anything but a younger sister, and I was too young to care for him in any other way, but I still jealously hid him from Anya as she sought out men of her own. We were terribly different, at that age. Sirius once, in a romantic sort of mood and fancying himself a poet, said I was a foal. On shaky legs, wide-eyed, a head too big for my body. I certainly felt like it.

"Up here." With a little help I made it up into the loft, where scratchy piles of gold straw tempted and iron tools hung rusting from nails. I threw myself onto a mound with a sigh, making a face as the layers of my dress got caught up as I moved. "Why can't I wear what you wear?"

"Princesses don't wear mucking clothes."

"I'm not a _princess,_" I grumbled, pulling myself closer to the edge the little ledge overlooking the barn. We nestled in there like hidden birds, safe and secret from the world. Straw crinkled and cracked pleasantly, releasing its loamy, dry scent as I settled. "Why'd you want me in here?"

"'Cos we needed some privacy." He raised a brow, tapping me on the nose with a smile. "We're thinking of something. Something secret. A _plan_."

"For what?"

"To get you out of princess lessons tomorrow." He hummed to himself, leaning back and glancing over his interwining fingers. "And while Madame Toltette's off fer business, we'll sneak into her private study and - "

"I'm not a princess." I growled, my eyes going wide as his words sank in. "Mum's private...? Why?"

"Curiosity. Rumors." His smile dimmed, eyes narrowing into jade slits. "You with me?"

"You aren't telling me anything." I frowned, twisting my hands in my lap. "It's a bad idea, Sirius. If mum or Toltette catches you - "

"Well, hey." He shrugged. "Thass fine. Go to your lessons. I hear Tucket is talking to you about the birds and the bees tomorrow."

"Oh, ew, _ew_!" I wrinkled my nose, caught in a fit of giggles. Sirius and Anya had told me more than enough, and thinking about Madame Tucket lecturing me on that - I squirmed just to think of it. "So, let me guess. If I help you, you'll get me out of it?"

"You're learning, filly."

...Fine." I laughed nervously, tucking my legs and scrunching the folds of my skirts, trying to ignore the sense of apprehension building. It couldn't go _that _wrong, could it? And what could Sirius be so curious about? Only one way to find out, I suspected. "How?"

"Two things." He smirked, idly picking at his teeth with a dirty, ragged nail. "First, like they do in stage fights. You know those berries by the gardens, the red ones?"

"Yeah." I frowned. "Why?"

"Grab a bunch. How do ye... con... congale 'em? Make the juice thick?"

_"Congeal._ Wormwood should make it seize up. Why, Sirius?"

"Cos we're gonna fake you falling, filly." Sirius drawled, casting me a glance with a raised brow. "The juice'll seem like blood. Keep it in your mouth, aye? Pretend to fall down the stairs. Tucket sees you bleeding, you'll say you're heading off to the healer and we'll meet in the hall, you free as a spring magpie."

"What?" I scoffed, sliding down the hay and leaping onto my feet. "No. That's_ idiotic._ Madame Tucket isn't stupid, she'd want to see a wound."

"Not if it just looks like you broke a few teeth. See?" He bared his lip like a horse, revealing two missing teeth. "You just lost one, right? So it'll look like you knocked it out."

"Why don't I just fake sick?"

"She caught you last time, filly."

I grumbled, grimacing as I remembered why I'd agreed to skip her lessons. "Her lecture alone could _make_ me sick."

"Then come. It'll work, I swear. Cross my heart."

I knew it could. Papa had taught me wormwood could make liquids seize up, used it in salves on bandages to slow bleeding. In theory it could work on the berries, too. I was already planning the components in my head, even for my reluctance. I couldn't resist a challenge. "What's the second thing?"

"Something only you can do, princess." I rolled my eyes at the name as he grinned. "We'll need yer mam's key."

"Sirius!" I jerked straight, staring. "That's _crazy. _You want me – what, to steal from her? That's wrong."

"Just the one. And we're not stealing, we're _borrowing_." He tried to soothe even as he argued, giving me a pat on the shoulder. "She won't even notice they're gone. That's why you gotta do it, filly. _You_ can get close enough. I can't."

"But why?"

"I'll tell you after. Gets you out've lessons either way, don't it? C'mon, Dusty."

We argued well into the afternoon until, at last, my curiosity and Sirius's persistence won out. He wrapped an arm around me and squeezed me tight, cackling. "Atta girl! You'll see. You grab the key tonight and I'll meet you tomorrow, right 'fore yer lessons in the usual spot." A playful pinch on my arm as I swatted at him. "Better than the _'if a boy ever touches you'_ talk, right?"

I couldn't resist laughing - his high-pitched, frenzied mimic was uncanny. "Right. Au revoir, Sirius."

"Aye, princess." I caught only a final glimpse of vermillion hair before he was gone, racing down the field to the servant's hall. I sighed, blinking in sapphire sunlight as I made my way home, picking stray pieces of straw out of my hair.

"Gabriel Toltette,_ there_ you are!" I cringed at a familiar shriek, looking up to see Madame Tucket huffing down the path. "What have you -filthy,_ barefoot -"_

"Yes, Madame Tucket. Sorry."

"Like a little_ piglet!_" She continued, triumphantly grabbing my sleeve and dragging me back to the house as though I'd never meant to return in the first place. "Oh, your mother will be horrified. You'll be the death of me yet, missy."

With all the venom of an annoyed thirteen year old girl, I crossed my fingers and half-hoped I'd prove her right.

It wasn't even especially hard.

Maman, mistress of the house, always wore her keys on her belt. Not just for her study but for almost every room that could lock in the manor - guest rooms, the library, the garden exits. I knew her well by their jingle and her quick steps, the brisk pace she kept in managing the household and in helping Toltette run his business. All too simple to feign a hug before bedtime, taking comfort in her kiss on my brow even as I undid the key from its loop and secreted it away in my palm.

Less simple, the guilt that came with the action_. It's okay,_ I tried to convince myself. _We'll have it back by tomorrow, easy._ I couldn't fathom why Sirius wanted in her study so badly, what he could be so curious about, but whatever it was I wanted to know, too.

After all, it wasn't the first time maman had kept secrets from me, was it?

The time for my lessons came quick, almost too quickly. I held the key tight in one hand, the little ball of jellied berries in the pocket of my cheek. Sirius, true to his word, met me by the stairs and kept a watch over the balcony for my governess, glancing over when she came close.

"Ready?"

I nodded, wincing as a screech broke the silence. I could almost picture her throwing her hands in the air.

"Do I have to get you a _leash_, child? Dust, come here now!" A smirk tugged at my lips when she called me Dust at last, but Sirius caught my attention, clearing his throat.

"Good luck, filly." He whispered and winked, careful now to keep behind the wall and out of sight. "Go on."

I leapt to my feet, grimacing at the squeeze of berry juice in my cheek. I stopped at the top of the stairs, wincing at Miss Tucket's reproving glare.

_"Go!"_

At Sirius's urging I did. I waved, then raced down the long stairway. How to fake tripping, anyway? I did my best to act the part, running the steps halfway as I usually did, then feigning a foot raised just a hair too low

Then the world spinning, toppling, and I landed in an aching pile at the bottom of the stairs. Madame Tucket gasped, and I raised my hand - my mouth was warm and wet. I spat, tears stinging in my eyes, a sanguined tooth falling from my mouth. Definitely not just berry juice and that pinch of wormwood. _Ow._

"Oh, sweet Mara!" Madame Tucket kneeled by me, helping me up and gasping at the mix of fake and real blood dribbling down my chin. "You poor child! Oh, mercy - well, it's alright, just a broken tooth..." I winced as she examined me, curling my tongue over the newly empty hole in my gums. _That wasn't part of the plan. _

"I'll, um –" I wrinkled my face at the taste of blood, trying to sound convincing. Too defiant and she'd be angry, too sweet and she'd get suspicious. A delicate line I'd learned to walk over the years. "I'll go get cleaned up, Madame."

"Yes, that'd be best. Looks like just a lost tooth, dear, nothing to fret about, but better safe than sorry. I'll go find your mother and tell her what happened." She dug up a handkerchief from her bodice and dabbed at the red on my face. "Go on, now. And be more careful!"

I nodded, limping off. I was silent until I made it back up around the corridor were Sirius had hid, clapping me on the back and cackling. "Brilliant! Best fake fall I e'er seen!"

"It wasn't very fake," I grumbled, clutching my throbbing head an smiling in spite of myself. The mingled berry juice and blood dried on my chin despite Tucket's efforts, itching and flaking under my fingers. "I'm free, so it's worth it anyway."

"Aye. We've got work to do."

We moved through the shadowed hall, silent and still. I frowned under the eyes of portraits, moving close to Sirius and trying to keep my twitching hands from clutching his. He wasn't even supposed to be inside the manor. It wasn't the first time he'd smuggled in to meet me, but it had never felt this - foreboding, before.

"This way." He whispered. I vaguely recognized where we were - mum and Toltette's private wing. It felt forbidden - the stifling silence, the impeccably polished candlesticks, heavy velvet curtains allowing in only cracks of light. Secret and sinister.

"Here."

I was jerked backwards, pulled to a stop in front of one of the towering doors. Mum's study. I gulped.

"Why are we doing this again?"

"Cos it got you out've lessons, and there's something I need to see."

"What?"

"Tell you later."

I sighed, worrying at my lip and stepping back from the door. "We shouldn't."

Sirius glowered. "Don't you give in on me now, princess. I'll send ye right back t'the Madame, quick as you please."

"You _wouldn't!"_

"Would. C'mon, now."

I hesitated only a moment before giving him the key, swallowing guilt as it slid and turned with a mechanical click. He offered it back with a grim nod. Strange – I'd never seen him like this, so serious, so quiet.

What did he think mum was hiding?

"No turning back now, filly."

Slowly, neck prickling, I nodded. "No turning back."

The door creaked open, a croak of warning before Sirius gestured me inside. I slowed, looking around the forbidden room with a bitter taste at the back of my throat.

It was much like the library study - polished wood, books, a map spread upon the wall, yellowing and curling at the ages. And orb of light flickered in a lamp, a book open on the desk, a quill drying in forgotten ink on an unfinished page.

Boring. Normal. _All this for nothing?_ "Sirius..."

"Shh!" He hissed. I glanced around, catching sight of him huddled in the corner by the wall. A shiver clambered up my spine as I watched him press against it, pushing back a panel - a nook, just like mine! At last it slid open - in the dim light I saw only letters, wax-sealed and mundane. I was both relieved and disappointed, but Sirius's breath caught, eyes going wide as he studied one of the envelopes.

"What is it?"

"Shh."

I crept to his side, looking over the piles of unaddressed scrolls and letters, yellowing parchment, red wax, a flash of silver -

_Silver?_

I reached in, breath caught, shivering as my fingers slid across cool, carved metal. Ebony. I reached blindly further, cringing at the sudden sting on my finger and drawing my hand back, sucking away blood. _A knife?_

"Just 'fer letters, probably." Sirius dismissed my thoughts with a curt glance. "Don't touch it."

"Why are these hidden?" In the back of mind something strange and secret clawed, but distantly, an itch. I pushed it aside, watching as Sirius slipped the unopened letter into his tunic. "You can't take that! That's _stealing!"_

"Shut up!" He clapped his hand over my mouth, prying me backwards and sliding the panel shut, fear glittering in his eyes. "Let's go. Now."

"You wanted to come in here!" I squirmed as he pulled me away, stubbornly gripping the doorframe when he moved into the dark corridor. Wrong, this was _wrong_. "What is it? Tell me!"

"Dusty, later! We have to - "

Footsteps.

Sirius froze, let me go and backed away. Before I could move he whispered - _sorry, filly_ \- and ran. A beat. I stilled as the footsteps, the familiar jingle of keys turned the corner.

"Dust?"

I watched helplessly as mum approached, eyes dark, lips in a tight line. Head bowed, wringing my hands.

"Sorry, maman."

I was sent to bed early, given no punishment - not even a reproach. I seethed at Sirius as I washed dried blood from my chin, the water blossoming red. The silence was somehow worse than a scolding. I slept little that night, cursing him, vowing to never take part in his harebrained schemes again until dawn broke, and I was hurried off restless and exhausted to breakfast.

Silverware clinked in the morning, the only sound amongst us as we ate together in the sunlit dining hall. Mum, as demure and unphased as always, lead pleasant conversation at the table. I avoided her gaze, gnawing my lip and murmuring in hopes of a quick exit. Even angry as I was, I wanted to know what he'd found.

"May I go riding with Sirius before lessons?"

"Sirius?" Toltette raised a brow.

Anya whispered, eyes fixed on her plate. "The stablehand she likes. The one who taught her to ride."

"Ah, the boy." His face softened, pity I despised in his gaze. "An unfortunate accident, I'm afraid. He's dead, cherie. Tripped. Caught on his pitchfork, early this morning. Truly tragic."

...Tragic. I felt _nothing, _only a stark and echoing hollow in my chest. An accident, a tragic accident.

I never did find what Sirius had been so curious about. Months after his death I stole her key again, looked in that little nook again only to find it emptied. His secret died with him, and over time it seemed not to matter. Our childish games, our little adventures were done, for good.

Things changed, after that. Mum no longer chastised me for missing lessons, Madame Tucket no longer hunted me down so zealously - for the most part, I was free to do as I wished. My nursemaid and the servants said I was delicate, let me have my way. I had what I'd always wanted.

Free as a magpie.


	4. Chapter Four

Bathwater rippled as I sprinkled dried lavender over it, peering through the rising steam to scry my own reflection. A girl peered back, her hair dark and twisted around her shoulders, cheeks flushed, eyes distant. Silent, pretty, unquestioning. A perfect bride for a wealthy toad.

"Dammit." I scowled at the water's surface before slipping in, my reflection vanishing. I dipped my head back, sighing as my hair slicked to my neck and I took a precious moment of silence, listening to nothing but the water lapping at the edges of the tub. The scents – oil, soap, lavender wafted sweet, enveloping me in steam as I dragged my fingers through my hair. Trying to relax felt futile. My eyes opened and strayed again down to the water.

There she was again, in rippling reflection. A grumble and I splashed her away.

_Whoever you are, you're not who I want to be._

"Dusty? Are you in yet?"

"_Oui, maman_." I relaxed at the sound of mum's voice, listening as the door opened and closed behind her, as she pulled a stool to my side and perched herself there, smiling. I forced a stiff smile in turn, swallowing guilt as her face fell. I couldn't hide it, not from her.

"Oh, dear. It won't be so bad."

"I know." I sighed, turning from her and rubbing hot water down my arms in a vain attempt to keep properly warm. "We need a bigger tub. If my front's hot, my back's cold, and if my back's warm, my_ front's _cold."

"Don't nitpick, dear." Mum had a slight smile in her voice. "I bet Gaston's family will have a nice bathing room."

"A _swamp,_ I imagine." I muttered before I could stop myself.

"Dust - "

"I know, mum. Sorry."

"We just want what's best_, chérie_." Mum murmured, pouring something cold and coy into her hand and working it into my hair, surrounding me with sweet suds. "Anya is happy, after all."

I let a rush of breath, watching my reflection ripple as I whispered. "I'm not Anya."

Mum and her handmaid took over my bath, scrubbing me until my skin was pink, dragging a comb through my unruly hair, murmuring about colours and matches as I sat in my chemise and tried not to think of the night ahead.

"The cinched waist, then. Come, dear." I bit back a groan as mum led me to the handmaid, the two working to lace a corset around my stomach. I sucked in a breath, releasing it in a curse that had the handmaid gasping and mum scolding. Delicate pink, puffed sleeves, my hair drawn back in a tight, coiled braid, my cheeks rouged with a powder that made me cough and sputter.

I stared in the mirror, trying to keep my hands still at my sides -_ fidgeting is unbecoming, chérie_ \- and ignoring the bitter taste rising in my throat. Mum smiled softly.

"You look like a little doll. The porcelain ones? Lovely."

_I do look like a doll. _I frowned, wrinkling my nose as the girl in the mirror did the same. _Fragile and empty-headed. _I bit my lip, a nervous glance at mum keeping me from speaking my mind. She looked so hopeful, so oddly fragile herself in a way I'd never known her.

"Dusty, I have never seen you this quiet. It's an omen of a good marriage, I'm sure."

"Anya!" I gasped, racing - as much as I could in ridiculous, toe pinching shoes - to my sister's arms. She laughed aloud, eyes sparkling, her belly round and full and cheeks flushed from baby glow. Maman laughed too, embracing us both tight at once before running a hand down Anya's belly. I grinned, chittering like a sparrow as I hopped from foot to foot. "I didn't even think you were coming! I mean, with the baby? Is it safe to travel?"

"I'm not all _that_ delicate." She smiled wryly, reaching to lay a kiss on my cheek before doing the same to mum. "Oh, I've missed you both."

"And you too, my dear." Mum tilted a hand under Anya's chin, a proud smile lighting her face. "Ahh, look at you both. A beautiful mother, and a beautiful bride-to-be. They grow up so fast."

I laughed, fumbling nervously with my hair and trying to keep my smile from going watery as hers. "Maman..."

"I know, dear. I won't say another thing." Mum shook her head, her smile growing wicked. "I fear Gaston will discover his secret proposal plans aren't quite so secret."

"He won't suspect a thing." I let it out at last, unable to bite back a scowl. "His head is filled with swampwater."

"Dust..." Mum paused, looking to Anya with a glance I didn't quite understand.

"Well, I'll get back to the table. We're all waiting, _ma soeur chérie_."

"We'll be out in a moment." Mum called out after her, waiting until the door closed before turning to me, gently laying her hands on my shoulders. She smiled bittersweetly. "Dusty, I _know _what Gaston is like."

I listened, silent, passive.

"He may be wealthy and titled, but he's - well. A brain full of swampwater." She smiled. " He may be - "

"A brutish lout?" I had suggestions on my lips before she could speak, finding myself grinning. "A squat, bloated toad with all the charm and manners of an ogre?"

"Yes." Mum shook her head, chuckling. "But he is also in the right family, dear. The right name, the right status. I believe it was his father who decided for him." Her smile turned, eyes darkening. "If he can't have an intelligent son to inherit the family business and name, a daughter-in-law is the next best thing. And it'll be nice, won't it? To be among other mages, other scholars like their family."

I pursed my lips, casting away my gaze. "You know what I think. I don't care about marrying for love."

"...I know."

"And if it will make you happy..." I trailed off, reaching for mum's hands. "Then I'll do it. I'm only nineteen, after all." I gave a crooked grin. "Plenty of time to find myself something on the side. All the royals do it."

"My little minx of a daughter." Mum cackled, then went somber, clutching my hands tight. "It only makes me happy because it makes Davide happy, to know you will be cared for when we're gone. And I know he wants what he sees as best. _Make _the best of it, love."

I watched, curious as mum pulled something from her bodice – a glint of metal, a blade that made me catch my breath. "You're brilliant, and passionate, and kind. The Roste family business will flourish because of you." She placed the blade in my gloved hand, folding her own over mine.

"My letter-opener. Take it. May it bring you the fortune it brought me."

"Maman..." I breathed, turning the blade over in my hand - ebony, etched with gold leaf in spirals and curls. I slid it away as she had, hidden as both protection and utility, a tool of any mistress of an estate as I would soon be.

Wife, mother, Marquess. All the titles I would inherit. All the things I never wanted, that I would have to live up to. A low inhale, blinking back tears, trying to bring myself back to the moment. "Thank you. It's beautiful."

"Like you." She smiled fondly, brushing a loose lock from my brow and kissing me there. Could I do what she did, really? I looked the part now, prim and pretty, but inside…

I swallowed hard, gazing at the door as she rubbed my back. "Time for your proposal, sweet. Go on."

My heart thumping against the ribs of my corset, my pretty gloves hiding white-knuckled fists, I inhaled deep and prepared to accept my fate.

_If he kisses my hand one more time, I'll remove it._

I held my breath and counted far into the hundreds at my future fiancé's side, picking away at the sumptuous meal provided and giving despairing glances to Anya at her husband's side. She met my eyes, sympathetic and shaking her head, a hushed embarrassment shared between us. Perhaps even pity. With a little prompting, she'd been allowed to choose her husband from her suitors. Since I'd turned away every other possibility, I had no such luxury.

I tried discreetly to wipe off the flecks of food and saliva Gaston had left in his charming kisses. The slob. I sighed, folding my napkin again and again in my lap and fading in and out of the animated conversation between Toltette and Monsieur Roste.

"Quality, Roste - this is what makes my breeds sell so well, finest in High Rock." Toltette, for once, spoke with enthusiasm,

"But is it not all about salesmanship, my friend? The finest stallion will never sell if the seller does not represent his product, after all." Roste, my future father-in-law, was the very image of a Breton merchant-noble, wealth and class gained through shrewd business. Specifically, with a focus on alchemy and supplying local chapels with their supplies. Profit from the tragedy of others.

And Toltette had thought he was doing me a favour, pairing me with a family who so twisted and abused my passion.

"Ah, father l-loves his debates." I was pulled out of my thoughts by Gaston's simper. "I wish he wouldn't b-bring business to the table like this. Useless argument, hmm?"

_Useless argument? Is that what you call discussing the fine points of what pays for those silk cuffs you use as a napkin?_ I smiled, hoping it looked less sickly than it felt before turning back to my plate and eyeing the quail with a queasy grimace.

"Delicious meal, ch-chérie, simply delicious. You, you like to help in the kitchens, yes?" He was really trying, wasn't he? Gods, that made it worse. I struggled to keep a smile fixed on my face. "Like a peasant wife, it's qu-quaint! Of course, a noble woman's d-d-delicate hands ought to stay soft…" He caught mine again before I could pull away, dotting on a kiss wet enough that I could _feel_ it through the glove.

And I thought I felt sick _before._

"Gaston?" Roste clinked his glass, clearing his throat and raising a brow. "I believe you had something you wished to share?"

"Share? Oh, _yes_, of course." He muttered, rising from his chair with a groan, catching mum and Anya's attention as Toltette inclined his head, giving him permission to proceed. He glanced at me nervously – me, as though _I _could help, as though he were the one lost here.

"I have a most wondrous announcement. The, er, honourable Marquis de Toltette has given me the most great honour - " He paused, coughing before continuing in near gasps. "Of his p-permission, to court his most lovely daughter, Gabriel. These past weeks..." _Past weeks? You mean the three times I've met you?_ "Have shown me that she is more than a worthy daughter of the Roste family, and so I have the most dubious - er, deviant..."

He flushed, great cheeks swelling red under his father's reproving stare. "Er, _delightful!_ Yes, delightful honour of asking her to marry me." He turned his gaze on me, and I felt a flicker of pity - he really was far more nervous than I. Did he want this at all, or had it been forced on him as it had me? "My dear Gabriel, would you do me the honour of - "

"Bended knee." Roste hissed, just loud enough for Gaston and I to hear.

"Yes, yes!" Gaston gasped, falling on his knee and reaching into his pocket, clutching my hands in his. "Miss Gabriel, would you take the honour - I mean, give _me_ the honour, of taking my - _your _hand in marriage?"

_Honour, duty, family._ I stifled a sigh, daring to meet Gaston's watery gaze before cracking a weak smile. "It would be my pleasure, Monsieur."

The night finished with cheers and clinking glasses, Mum and Anya kissing me on the cheek, whispering condolences in my ear as Toltette and Roste shook hands on a profitable business endeavor. Well into the night we – they, at least, celebrated, Gaston simpering and telling me all our shared future would bring. I faded in and out, only distantly aware of his words, of his sweaty hand grasping mine as we found a quiet corner and sat. At a glance, perhaps we even really looked like a couple.

"Children, of course. _Lots _of children." His voice lowered to a whisper, his laugh almost a snort. "We should get started on that as soon as possible, eh?"

I blinked. "Pardon me?"

"Well, you know." His snigger cut off as he realized I was unamused, blinking furiously and reaching to wipe beads of sweat from his brow. "Why wait until the w-wedding, yes? You're so very beautiful, Gabriel, and it would, I, I would like to…"

_Not a toad._ I pulled away and stood, staring hard at him. _A boy. A poor, foolish, lecherous little boy._

"No."

He stopped, swallowing visibly. "What?"

"No. I can't _do_ this." I pulled back even as I felt eyes on me, wrapping my arms around myself like a shield. "I won't marry you, Gaston. Not now, not ever."

Maman and Anya exchanged worried glances as Toltette and Roste turned on us, Roste turning pale while Toltette faded sickly yellow._ "Gabriel - "_

_"No."_ I spat, backing down the hall, shoulders trembling, fighting to keep my voice calm as a sickly heat grew in me. Anger at being used, pity and disgust at my fiancé, grief at the thought of all possibility ripped away. No, no, _no_. Even for maman's sad stare, even facing Toltette's anger, I couldn't bring myself to give in.

"I will not. I'm not some empty-headed doll, or some puppet master- "I glared at Roste."I won't marry your son. I won't marry a man who can't even speak for himself."

"You've had too much to drink, dear." Roste hemmed, lip curled and eyes narrowed as he looked me up and down. "Surely, this is just -"

"It is what it is. Business. And I won't be a part of it." I broke off from a slack-jawed, reaching Gaston once more. A final look between them all and I stood straight as I could, a new strength lifting me. "I wish you all the best, Messieurs, should it have nothing to do with me."

And I ran.

Through the garden doors into the night, a chaotic orchestra of coos and cricket song the only sounds. Through the trimmed hedges to the brambles, to the unkempt grasses and weeping trees beyond - I tripped, my dress ripping with a satisfying crack around my feet, my shoes abandoned and toes laced with dew, gloves following soon after. When my breath came in gasps, white breaths rising to the stars, I reached the edge of the lake and collapsed to my knees.

I didn't cry.

I watched, instead - my reflection as it rippled in the water, so close, but so far away to what I needed it to be.

"So." I paused, meeting my gaze, lip caught between my teeth. "Who are you?"

She never answered, but something did. I flinched as I moved, something prodding against my chest. I drew the forgotten blade from my bodice, warm from my breast, fingering the carvings and drawing it through the water in silver streaks. I lifted it, watching rivulets descend before sliding it along my braid, and holding my breath.

Between that moment and the next, everything changed. I felt the tickle of my hair falling, the ribbon intertwined pulled away and thrown in after. I watched, breath caught as the black braid floated downstream, somewhere distant, somewhere nobody would find it. Tufts of my hair followed, chopped haphazardly until I ran my fingers through it, short and free, curled to my head.

One more look to the water's surface and, for once, the face there was smiling back.

I didn't return, that night. I waited, slept in the stables I'd hidden away in so often as a girl, until morning came. Only then did I return, all mussed with straw, dress torn, my hair newly shorn and sticking out in uneven, curling tufts like down on a newborn chick.

"Oh, Dusty."

Mum pursed her lips, pouring herself tea and shaking her head as I forced down the rising lump of guilt in my throat.

"Maman - "

"No, dear. I understand." She smiled, lashes downcast. "You would never have been happy. Too headstrong." She chuckled, rising to sweep a hand through my hair. "It suits you."

Toltette wasn't so pleased.

"You little _idiot." _He snarled, stalking in circles around me as I calmly sipped the tea mum made for me. "Do you have any idea what you've done?"

"Davide – "

"Ruined our connection with the Rostes, shamed me, made yourself into an _ass _\- "

"Davide, please." He could never stay angry around maman. "Please, darling. It's been a difficult night for all of us. Come to your study with me, talk a while."

I felt his glare on my shoulders until mum led him way, but this time, I felt invincible. Even uncertain what lay ahead, what they would do with me now, I felt – strong. Comfortable, finally, in my own skin.

I was told the news that night.

"Gabriel..." Mum murmured, with a careful glance over her shoulder at Toltette. "Dusty. Your father and I have decided that it would be best for you - "

"_And_ for us."

"If we sent you somewhere, dear." Mum took my hands in hers, eyes dark and shining, a small smile on her lips. "To practice magick arts. We're sending you to Cyrodiil, to the Arcane University in the Imperial City."

Toltette cleared his throat, eyes narrowed. "As soon as possible."

My breath hitched. "Cyrodiil?" Mum had lived in Cyrodiil, long ago. Where she'd met papa, before they'd come back to their ancestral home.

"Yes. But if you don't want to go, darling - "

"No!" The word jumped from my throat, my skin tingling as excitement jolted my blood. "I want to go. _Please_, maman."

"I knew you would." Mum breathed, clutching me close as I caught my own breath. "Sundas, then. Are you certain? Cyrodiil is distant, my dear."

I was sure. And Sundas couldn't come fast enough.

Cyrodiil - I had read of it, traced the names of its lands on maps as a child. The home of the Septims, the holy bloodline. The distant Imperial City, where remnants of ancient Ayleids became a palace, the Imperial Simulacrum, legends of Jagar Tharn - it became almost a holy place, so close, yet so far away. I read hungrily, curled in my nook for the final time, surrounded by histories of a strange new world that would become my hime. With every new legend, everything I learned, my heart leapt higher in my chest until I was certain it would come out dancing between my lips.

In the days to come, we discussed the details of my journey. First a carriage to Jehenna, then by boat to the city of Solitude in Skyrim. From there we'd travel by carriage South, stopping in the cities to rest and resupply until we could cross the mountain pass into –

I frowned over my bag of luggage, turning on maman and Anya as they helped me manage the packing. So many little, tedious tasks to get through but then, then…

"What do you mean 'we', maman?"

She and Anya exchanged a glance I knew all too well. Oh, _no_. "Well, it's a long journey, chérie." Mum spoke gingerly, moving to sit on the bed strewn with my clothes, my books, what few pieces of my life I wanted to bring along. "And since Madame Tucket is from Cyrodiil herself – she spoke of wanting to go visit family there …"

Oh, no, no. I faltered, staring slack-jawed between them. As I hit teenagehood Tucket had turned from my governess into Anya's handmaid, helping her around her own newly inherited estate and through her pregnancy. Still, the memories of her lingered. "Mum, I don't need a nursemaid! I was old enough to marry off, for Mara's sake – "

"I know, sweet, but you'll be safer with someone who knows the route and can speak on your behalf. A young woman travelling alone – it's too risky."

"But – but, _Anya_ needs her!" I scrambled for excuses, glancing at my sister in desperate hopes of support. She only smirked and shook her head, a hand over her belly.

"I'm not due until well into Sun's Height. I'll manage. Sorry, sister."

"And this is not up for negotiation." Mum's brows arched high, only lowering as I pouted and turned back to the luggage. A soft laugh and she kissed my cheek. "It's just for the trip, darling. Then you'll be free, and you can get into as much trouble as you want."

"You shouldn't encourage her, maman. Who knows what schemes she'll dream up, hm?"

All annoyance evaporated, replaced by warmth at their teasing and affection. Love for them, both of them – different as we were, they supported me. Wanted me to be happy. We joked back and forth as I prepared, and even knowing Tucket would be escorting me wasn't enough to drag down my spirits again.

Sundas was cool and balmy, the skies a dismal grey and meadows turned into bleak moors. Anya, Toltette and Maman watched, a flicker of a smile on my sister's lips as I threw book after book into my luggage. The horses whinnied and pawed at the earth in impatience, the old carriage driver spitting tobacco and telling me with a silent glare to hurry up.

Madame Tucket hardly seemed to have changed at all – a few more grey hairs, perhaps, a few I was sure I gave her, but the same proud looks, the same nagging and disapproving clucks as I stowed up my luggage in the carriage. Too many books, not enough dresses, but it was much too late to change that now. She climbed inside, giving me time for my final goodbyes to my family.

"You were always too smart to be cooped up here." Anya smiled, pinching me on the shoulder as though we were children again before holding me tight. Did I catch a glint of tears in her eyes, too, or did I imagine it? "I'll miss you, you know." Her full belly pressed up against me. "Be happy."

I would try, as she had tried and succeeded here. I hugged her hard for a long moment, as though through that I could somehow give her my unspoken gratitude. A kiss on my cheek and we parted, and I turned to my stepfather.

I had expected Toltette to only watch, and fidgeted when he approached. He cleared his throat, impossibly awkward as we pointedly avoided each other's gaze. He spoke stiffly, a formal farewell, before moving away without ever having touched me.

"My sweet Dusty." Mum whispered, laughing weakly as I squeezed her tight. "I'll miss you. Write to me."

I bit my lip to stop tears, muffling my words in the warm crook of her neck. "I'll miss you too, maman. I'll be okay."

"Damn right, you will." She chuckled, drawing a hand through my hair. "You're mine, after all. You'll be fine"

I slid into the carriage beside Tucket, clutching a leather-bound journal to my chest. Something to keep me occupied during the long journey, even as Tucket droned in my ear. The old man cracked his whip, and the wheels began to turn.

I never looked back.


	5. Chapter Five

I awoke to the kiss of a blinding sun and the rumble of wheels, slipping from a sweet, sleepy haze and lulled by the gentle rock of motion. I yawned, a smile curving my lip as I reached for the little awning, pulling away the curtain and staring out at what awaited me.

The Imperial City.

Tucket had spoken of it like most women speak of lovers, in gushing tones and long sighs. Of the busy markets, the grand gardens, the stunning chapels that well rivalled even those in High Rock. Luckily for me, she wasn't accompanying me that far – instead she escorted me as far as Chorrol and from there departed to stay with her family. A strange goodbye – I'd expected some reproving lecture or dismissal, but it was with tears she'd kissed my cheeks and wished me good luck.

And then, from there, I was alone. No mother or Toltette, no Anya, no guardian to watch over me – every tie had been cut. The absence felt strange. Not unpleasant, but heady and dizzying like a deep sip of wine. I stared in quiet awe at the spires before us, the tower in the center that seemed to rise up impossibly high even from here.

"You awake back there?" I startled at the wagonman's gruff shout. "An hour's travel will take us to the city."

_An hour. An hour until I'm really, truly free_. It was exhilarating, and our slow, steady pace - over rolling hills and past sprawling farmlands, a grand bridge beyond glittering water, under a falling sun -

It was strange, agonizingly slow, and exquisitely beautiful.

I drifted off again, a month's travel weighing heavily on my bones. Cyrodiil - the word prickled my tongue like an exotic fruit, and echoed in my mother's voice.

_I miss Cyrodiil, sometimes. _She'd stroke my hair and murmur, eyes distant like she was looking at something beyond what I could see. _The cities, the people._ She would write letters to old friends, and reading their replies, though she would never share them with us, always brought a tear to her eye.

_Maman... _I felt a pang of guilt and pulled from the window, snuggling into my cloak. _Did you want to be free, too?_

A shout.I jolted again at the man's call, at the jerk of movement, the whinny of horses, and sudden stop. A clatter, footsteps, the creak of the carriage door and he was there, lips drawn tight in a frown and silver brow high on his head. "Right, missy. I'm setting up and off. The Talos Plaza is just through the doors there. Best of luck to ye."

I stumbled down, blinking under the sun's glare and clutching my bags close. A shy thanks and he was off, leaving me to turn and stare.

The towers rose dizzyingly high above those great walls, white stone turning peach in sunset light. I gingerly walked the cobblestone trail, giving one last, nervous glance to the shrinking wagon before setting my gaze ahead. A majestic open door greeted me, metal and polished wood curved in draconic twists, flanked on either side by guards who gave quiet nods.

Breath caught I pushed myself onwards, into the crown of an emperor's realm.

I gawked around me, slowly approaching a dragon statue rearing its head in the center of the plaza. The homes were strange, like fortresses with columns and small, gleaming windows. A world of ornate stone. I slipped my bag over my shoulder again, grimacing at its weight.

_I'm exhausted_. I sighed, smiling in spite of the weakness in my legs. _The university, then._

...But where?

I pushed back a panicked leap of fear in my throat._ I should have asked for directions. Shit, where – there must be signs_ – but searching around me I saw only people, so many people, so many shades and shapes and kinds of clothing, all singularly focused on their tasks for the evening.

I gnawed my lip, trying to collect myself. I knew nothing of them, their customs. My few times in the cities of High Rock seemed now tame compared to this, this – wonderful, frightening chaos. Beggars on the same street as noblewomen carrying shopping, laborers hauling boxes as merchants debated prices. A group of children squealing and chasing each other until they were scolded by a guard. A fascinating mingle of people, both strange and exciting.

_Just be polite. Be yourself. Ask._

"Excuse me - " I called to a man, blinking as he hurried by. "Um. Excuse me, miss?" A Dunmer, fiddling with a gold chain around her neck, kept walking. I swallowed, hoping I didn't look as pathetic as I felt. "Excuse me, sir, can you tell me -"

"Go bother a guard!" Came the curt reply, a tawny-skinned mer throwing me a frown before marching off.

_Guard. Fine_. I swallowed again, gaze landing on one of the soldiers clad in armor, hovering around a corner with a gleaming sword buckled to his waist.

I did _not_ want to bother him.

"Pardon me, citizen."

I jumped, flushing pink as a hand pulled from my shoulder. "Oh!" I turned, wide-eyed at a warm smile and gaze of the Imperial man before me. Silver gold armor, penned with another dragon - a _royal_ guard. "I'm sorry, you s-startled me. Sir."

"Quite alright." He chuckled, eyes crinkling pleasantly. "You seem a bit distressed. Can I help you, citizen?"

"Y-yes, if it's no trouble." I spoke meekly, darting my gaze up to his. "I need to find the Arcane University, please - sir."

"Certainly. Just follow me." He turned, gesturing me to take his lead. "Are you a new student?"

"Yes, sir. From High Rock." I relaxed at his tone, his easy stride. "I just arrived."

"High Rock, eh? You've come a long ways. Here, allow me." I flushed again as he took my bags. "I'm afraid some of the citizens are a bit gruff towards newcomers. Should you need help - " He gestured to another guard, nodding at his salute of 'captain' before continuing. "Ask one of us. It is our duty to make sure the civilians of the Imperial City feel safe here."

"I will. Thank you, sir." I smiled brightly. "'I'm sorry, I didn't get your name."

"Captain Adamus Phillida. It is an honour to serve the Imperial City and her people."

"_Thank _you," I blurted out, cheeks going hot. "I mean, you were just - it's _nice_ to meet someone so friendly."

He laughed, a deep, resonating rumble that made me blush deeper. "Thank you, miss. We could use more kind folk like you in this city." As another great door closed behind us he gave me my bags again, casting his eyes to the tower before us. "Here you are. Good luck, miss..." He trailed off, brow wrinkling.

"Dust." I beamed. "Miss Dust."

"Miss Dust." He repeated, a slow smile on his lips. "Welcome to the Imperial City."

"Thank you," I breathed, watching him go with a final wave, striding up the stairs and admiring the sheen of mystic stonework below before going inside, my pulse thudding and my name on my lips. _Dust. Not Gabriel, not Toltette. Dust._

"Ahh, there you are. How do you do." A Dunmer greeted me, giving me a mild look over before beckoning me to follow without waiting for an answer. "The new student from High Rock, yes? Tired after traveling, I'm sure. Come along, I'll show you the Apprentice's Quarters."

My room. Apprentice Dust's room. I could barely contain my excitement at the thought, relishing the little shivers of joy and still heady with the feeling of – well, freedom. I strode to keep up with the Dunmer's pace, grinning ear to ear and gawking like the near child I was. _An alchemical garden! All these buildings – that one there, that must be a library, and one for spellmaking and… _ I chuckled to myself, following obediently as the Dark Elf escorted me inside one of the buildings, a sign for 'Apprentice Quarters' above.

It was a sort of dormitory, many beds – some already occupied – with only a little chest and nightstand for possessions and dividers for privacy. I was led well down the rows to an empty spot, a bed that was half the size of my one back in High Rock but still looked so very inviting.

"As much as I would like to give you a tour, it must wait. I'll expect you tomorrow, Miss Dust, in front of the main tower at seven strokes sharp." The Dunmer smiled, wry in spite of his official tone. "Rest well, Miss Dust."

I dressed in my nightshirt and tumbled into bed after he left, still buzzing with excitement. I was certain I'd never be able to settle, in awe of this past day, this past month all replaying through my mind but when my head settled on the pillow and I thought only to rest my eyes I drifted into warm, heavy sleep.

I awoke with a jolt, confused by the strange sounds and feel of the blankets twisted around me. A flickering candle stood at my bedside, dark shapes yawning and stretching in beds of their own.

_The University. I'm at the University._ I smiled, stretching with a languid yawn. _I'm free_. I watched through sleepy eyes as the other students awoke, contented to simply absorb the sights around me. Blue and green robes swishing up as people changed behind their dividers, stacks of book cradled with notes stuffed in the sheafs...

_A retort, like mine - advanced, though_. I watched a student carefully handle the alchemical piece, polished to a diamond shine. The whisper of ruffled paper and quiet murmurs surrounded me, books being carried as though they might crumble to nothing at a sneeze - I felt finally among my own kind.

A clock tolled seven bells, startling me from bed with a yelp. I winced as my feet hit cold stone, slipping my robe over my head, stuffing my feet into shoes. _Dammit, dammit, I'm late! My first day and I'm bloody late! _I dashed up the stairs, clutching my bag and cursing under my breath. The crowd around me jostled, and I bit back annoyance at being bumped back and forth before bursting away and breaking into a full run. Raindrops pitter-pattered from the sky, making me grimace and run all the faster for the main tower.

"Damn, damn, damn..."

"Miss Dust."

Oh, _damn_. I stopped short, cracking a weak smile under the reproving frown of the Dunmer I'd met the night before.

"You are precisely seven minutes late, and wearing your shoes on the wrong feet." I gulped, flushing red as I glanced down and wiggled them, suddenly aware of my discomfort. He chuckled, a brassy tone, catching my attention. "Fashionably late and a creative use of footwear, apprentice. Come along."

"Yessir." I meekly followed, unsure of whether to laugh at his dry humour. He paused, motioning for me to join him and pulling something from his satchel.

"What is this, Miss Dust?"

I blinked. A rosy-skinned, dimpled fruit sat in his palm. "An apple?"

"Quite." He smirked, vermillion eyes fixed on me. "What else?"

"Ahh..." I gave him a nervous glance before taking the apple, gingerly turning it over in my palm. I brought it to my lips, not to bite but to feel its smooth skin, smell its tart sweetness. "It's quite fresh. They grow in the Heartlands, generally, and ripen in late autumn. Though this one has been treated to stay good," I added at catching a whiff of bitterness. "A member of the nightshade family, so on a more complex level it can be used for poison. Its fibrous properties are also helpful for magicka to draw upon." I paused, frowning in thought. "A mild aphrodisiac, as well."

"Well done." The Dark Elf quirked a brow, smirking. "An alchemist, I presume? To the Lustratorium. And - " He looked back, giving me a nod as we walked. "Feel free to consider that your breakfast."

I took a bite, chewing thoughtfully and smiling at the crunch of sweetness, the rumble in my belly. I dashed to his side again - his strides easily outrunning my own, even walking. "I'm interested in all schools, actually, but I do have a particular fondness for Alchemy."

"Oh? You seem apt. You'll advance quickly here, I'm sure." A gentle snicker. "You've already lost the need to call me _sir."_

"Ah..." I bit my lip, flushing. "Sorry, sir."

He paused, giving me a kind smile. "I jest, friend. Bolor Savel, rank of Wizard and teacher of the art of posthumous restoration." He grinned, pearly teeth contrasting prettily with grey skin, red eyes gleaming. "At your service."

"Charmed." I beamed, beguiled by his wit, then bit my lip in thought. "Posthumous - ?"

"Necromancy, yes." He tilted his head. "Legal in Cyrodiil, though I am one of the few who openly admit to practicing it."

"Oh." I tried to stop a grimace, uncertain of what to say. Though High Rock was one of the tolerant provinces to more dubious arcane arts, the thought was still - disconcerting.

"Some fear is quite normal, I assure you. But my advances in the field have proved most useful in saving the living, and the Arch Mage has approved my work." He briefly scowled, not at me but some face he must have pictured. "At least some of us are open-minded. But nevermind my ramblings, eh? We need to get you equipped proper." He took my hand, laughing in his throat at my gasp and examining it carefully as I blushed. _What's he doing?_ His skin tingled slightly, remnants of magick workings - _and what else?_ I worried my lip, wincing.

"I _do _wash my hands, you know." He murmured dryly, casting me a small smile before turning back to my hand. "Leather gauntlets, size four, then." He dropped my hand. "I apologize for startling you."

"No, it's alright. I've never touched a Dunmer before." I gasped as my own words set in, feeling my face go hot. _Dammit, Dust, think before you open your bloody mouth! _"I'm sorry! I meant, ah - "

For a dreadful moment I feared I'd offended him, then his laugh rang out. He slung an arm around my shoulder, walking me back towards the buildings and the Alchemy Garden as he chuckled. "I _like_ you, Dust. May I abandon formalities?" He continued at my nod. "Wonderful. I am _honoured _to be the first Dunmer you've ever touched. I suppose it should be expected you've had little contact, from High Rock."

"I - yes, I was... fairly sheltered." Only now was I beginning to realize just how much, filled with both relief that he'd forgiven my social blunder and - something else. Warmth, a shivery little thrill from my toes to the ends of my hair at his touch.

I wasn't some coddled innocent, of course - well, as much as I could avoid being one under Tucket's watchful eye. I'd flirted, stolen kisses, moments of necking with a servant boy more out of rebellion than real interest. Even while denying my suitors I'd fantasized on romance, bards with hearts of gold or exotic, powerful sorcerers whisking me away...

But this - being touched by a handsome stranger, even so innocently, was something else entirely.

_Focus, Dust. One thing at a time._

"Prepare to have your eyes opened, my dear." Another grin over his shoulder as he let me go to move past, holding open a door with a teasing little bow. He nodded me inside, the door neatly labeled with a brassy plate - Lustratorium. "Come along. We'll get you fitted for gloves, given alchemy tools, then we'll tour the rest."

All too happy to learn, I followed.


	6. Chapter Six

It was after my first week in the University that I explored the Mystic Archives.

Bolor had given me only a quick show of it, the lower floor where Cyrodiilic literature and more common books were held. I found myself smiling at the musty scent of books and dust, running my fingers along ridged spines, raised letters. Yesterday's lecture still echoing fresh in my mind I slipped _The Wild Elves_ beneath my arm, curling in one of the plush chairs. One of the few unclaimed, maybe because of the odd charred spot on the arm. Probably a destruction apprentice showing off got a bit too enthusiastic. The past few days so busy it was only too easy now to while away the hours, time on my hands with lectures ended for the week. Outside, heavy clouds hanging like wool blankets and a gentle lullaby of rain heralded a lazy day.

It was closer to, and somehow farther from my little nook than I'd ever imagined.

"Excuse me?"

I glanced up at the rasp of a voice, blinking back my surprise as an Argonian gazed heavy-lidded at me. She smiled, baring sharp teeth, words hissing along her tongue as she spoke. "I need to fix up that chair, apprentice."

"Oh, of course!" I leapt to my feet, turning to watch as she bent over the charred cushioning and swept it clean in a brush of magicka. She hemmed, fingering the remaining scar and frowning as cotton hung on her claw.

"Foolish apprentices. No offense, of course. I'm just sick and tired of having to clean up after them, day after day." She grumbled, more to herself than me. "Is it so much to ask? No eating in the stacks. Neat. _Quiet."_

I thought of the biscuit I'd been munching while reading earlier and swallowed. "Ah. I suppose not."

"Exactly! I appreciate magicka just as much as the rest, but setting furniture on fire is just a touch ridiculous." I bit my lip, listening rather helplessly to her lecture as she fiddled with the burn, this time releasing a puff of white smoke and a hiss of a curse. "I _am_ sorry, apprentice, I've just had a rough day. And..." She mumbled something I didn't quite catch, fixated on the stubborn soot mark.

"Bergamot seeds and a bit of vinegar might draw that out." I spoke before I'd realized I had, going dumb as she gave me a glance with a frown. "Uh. Sorry."

"No, I believe you may be right. Alchemy isn't my strong suit, but vinegar certainly has cleaning properties around the home." She smiled, relief washing warm over me. "What's your name, apprentice?"

"Dust. I, I just arrived here a few days ago." I hadn't quite mastered my shyness around all these new faces, not yet, just hoping a smile would make up for it. "From Jehenna in High Rock."

"Ah, yes. I remember Bolor giving you the tour." She chuckled, shaking her head while her headpiece rang delicately around her fins. "Rogue of a Dunmer. Don't let him lead you astray, mm?"

I joined in her laugh, relaxing. "I won't. He has quite the sense of humour."

"That he does. Quite personable, too. If it weren't for his Necromancy..."

"Then I'd be a spectacular example of a well-behaved, boring little_ puppet,_ now wouldn't I, Tar-Meena?"

"Savel!" Tar-Meena and I jumped in unison, she barking at him with a glare. "If you don't get rid of that damned charm, _I will._ That ring just makes it easier for you to cause trouble." She frowned as he pulled it off, slipping it in his pocket with a sly smirk. "And wipe that smile off your face."

"Yes, Master-Wizard." He snickered, a hand on my shoulder. I'd grown used to it, these past days - touch was one of his ways of speaking, and I'd become fond of that quickly. "A thousand apologies, each and every one without a hint of sincerity. This ring is an old gift, you know." He raised a brow. "A Telvanni friend of mine. I wouldn't want to offend _him, _that's for damn sure."

"Of course we wouldn't." She rolled her eyes, turning to me with a kind smile. "I'll leave the chair, then. Or maybe you'd like to help?"

"Of course!" I fiddled with my sleeve, her title echoing in mind. "Master-Wizard."

"Don't feel obliged," Bolor warned. "Tar-Meena frightens off enough apprentices as is."

"Oh, hush." Tar-Meena snickered.

Friends. It astonished me, how easily the two got along. Humans were common in High Rock, the other races not so much. A Dunmer and an Argonian - all I'd ever read had claimed them enemies. But they were obviously colleagues and friends with the jokes they shared, their grins. Only when I went to leave by Bolor's side did Tar-Meena's smile slip away.

"Bolor."

"Yes?" He turned, his hand on my back. Tar-Meena only raised a brow, face so different yet the expression somehow utterly like Madame Tucket. Disapproving , right down to the narrowed eyes and raised brow.

"Oh, don't make that face. I know perfectly well what I'm doing." Bolor scoffed, both of them ignoring my confusion. "She'll be by tomorrow to help." He shook his head, his smile slipping only for a moment before he met my eye. "There's a fascinating lecture on death rites and lore tomorrow morning, you know. Taught by a _very_ handsome Dunmer."

"Wonderful." I laughed, shrugging off the strange ending with Tar-Meena and hurrying beside him. "I'll be there."

I shouldn't be in here. I know that immediately, even as innocuous as the room seems, sunlit and silent. A key heavy in my palm, the taste of wormwood vague but bitter in my mouth. I want to run but my feet move me forward instead, past the imposing desk and shelves that seem to rise up beyond sight to that panel in the wall. It creaks as I edge in my fingers, pull it aside, feeling the dread growing in my belly but unable to stop myself.

No. _No._ They tumble out one after another, grinning, sightless. I can't make them stop coming. I try to push the panel closed again but there's too many, rolling and clattering onto the floor, sickeningly crunching as I try to push them in. Skull after skull toppling in front of me and I know, I just _know _they won't stop, I'll suffocate in a sea of bone and I inhale deep to scream -

"Dust?"

I awoke with a gasp, cold sweat in a sheen down my skin. Dragging my palm over my face I blinked away grit to meet Bolor's lidded gaze. He sighed, resting his long fingers on my shoulder with his voice kept to a whisper. "Just a dream, apprentice. There are potions you could brew that could help, you know."

"I know." I mumbled, groaning as I pulled myself from the blankets to sit up properly. Gentle snores came from all around us, Bolor's face shadowed and strange in candlelight. "Maman always said dreams are important, though. What are you doing here?"

"Came to talk," Bolor said simply, hoisting himself onto my bed. "I couldn't sleep, either. Bad dreams. Comes with the territory. For you, though." He smiled wryly, sweeping a lock of hair from my eyes. "Perhaps the wine just sat badly with you. Quite a celebration, eh?"

"Yes." I laughed, the details of the dream - dread, skulls, secrets - evaporating with the warmth I always felt when Bolor was near. "Twenty, now. I don't_ feel _any different."

Twenty. A full year had passed since I left home, escaped to the Arcane University and found a new life, here. New friends – in Tar-Meena, always happy to work with me stocking the shelves or mourning the state of the Archives, quick to joke and tease with a drink in her hand. With Bolor, quicker still than she and always nudging me to ideas I never would have considered, new perspectives I embraced, always happy to walk the grounds and talk for hours about nothing at all.

There was homesickness, yes, but joy, too. Laughter and triumph and growth. I'd needed this - like taking a plant from a too-small pot so it could stretch its roots and flourish.

_I don't regret it._ The thought rang true and I smiled to myself. _Not for a second._

"Oh, it'll catch up with you." Bolor's murmur brought me back to the moment, a secret amusement in his eyes. "But not yet. You said you were born under the Serpent, yes? And that would explain the dreams." He continued at my nod. "A certain fascination of mine, the firmament. The Serpent - most blessed, and most cursed."

"I suppose." It did seem to make sense, my life always seeming to be barreling between two extremes - joy in the poverty of High Rock, misery in my stepfather's mansion. Here, at least, I felt like I'd found balance. I sighed, curling my legs beneath me and smoothing my nightgown over my legs. "What about you, then? What were you born under?"

"The Lover, of course." Bolor smirked, a little twitch of a smile and a gleam in his eye that always made me laugh. "Charming and graceful, handsome, kind..."

"And _humble_," I cut him off with a grin. "Generous. The necklace was a fine gift." I fingered the thin silver chain around my neck, feeling its tingle of magicka. He had given it to me after our little celebration, after splitting a bottle of wine between my dearest friends while watching the autumn sun set. Tar-Meena seemed caught between amusement and exasperation at it all, and I mimicked her gaze now as I met Bolor's eye. "The Lover. How old are _you,_ then?"

Bolor stiffened, indignant. "I'm afraid that is none of your concern, my dear Apprentice." He chuckled, taking the simple silver chain between his fingers, his knuckle brushing across my throat. "You look lovely in this. It's enchanted - the same effects of a protection spell."

I grinned. "Don't change the subject, old man."

"You little - " He cackled, gently pushing me onto the bed. I closed my eyes, trying to laugh quietly as the snores and rustles around us reminded me where we were. My breath caught as he moved over me, smiling down at me as he idly played with my necklace. He paused, eyes dark and intense. Gods, they were intense, somehow impossible to look away from as I felt my face turn red. His weight on mine was light and deliberate, blanketing me as he chuckled. "Maybe not as ornate as the jewels expected for a _Marquess_..."

"You _ass!" _Sputtering laughter in spite of myself._ "_ I never should have told you tha - " My teasing retort faltered as he dragged his finger along my throat, sending a sweet shiver through me. "I don't - I never really..." _By the Nine. When did it get so hard to breathe? _His free hand slid under the small of my back, his lips curling at my hitch of breath.

"Much too late now, my dear." He flashed that smile again, that knee-weakening smile I'd secretly admired over the year I'd known him. "Forgive me, but I think you are a far better scholar than you would have been a Marquess. I'm glad you came here." A soft chuckle. "Ah, but listen to me carry on. Happy birthday, Dust."

"Thank you," I whispered, my voice trembling. I felt dizzy again, like that goblet of wine was still in my hand and warming my blood as he leaned closer still. "I. Um. I..."

"You are lovely when you blush." He grinned, moving his hand to cup my cheek, thumb brushing over my lip.

We were silent, for a moment that felt like an eternity. Caught in a strange web of honey-spun sweetness, something so new, so bright and intoxicating, and yet it felt utterly natural. I sighed as he relaxed gently on me, his smile crooked.

"You should thank me properly for the gift, you know."

I blinked, confused and aroused and by _Talos_ his hand trailing down my stomach felt nice. "It was a_ birthday gift."_

"Yes, I suppose it was." He raised a brow, laughing in his throat. "Then allow me to put it this way - I'll give you another."

He pulled me up to him, just slightly, and crushed his lips to mine. I panicked inside, because dammit I didn't know what I was supposed to _do_, but our noses fit perfectly together and his hands moved over my waist, leaving tingling trails in their wake. He tasted bitter burning sweet still from the wine, his smell simply soap and smoke, and heat, and hope, and...

I whimpered in my throat, closing my eyes tight at his laugh, as he deepened the kiss and urged my lips to part. His hand slid lower then stopped, his breath sweeping down my neck as he moved away with a sigh.

"Ah, Dust." He smiled wryly, laying a gentle kiss on my brow. I bit my lip. _Why did he stop?_ "I should get to sleep, and so should you. This should remain between us. Mages and Apprentices are not encouraged to interact so - intimately."

_So that's it?_ I gulped, sitting up proper as he moved away. He must have caught the sadness and confusion in my gaze because he smiled, giving a kind laugh.

"We aren't finished, however. I expect we shall continue our _lessons_ in the near future." His fingers swept beneath my jaw, brushing away as he stood. The work of a moment to put on his ring and vanish – how he'd slipped in so easily for our late chats, these past months. "Good night, Apprentice."

"...Good night." I whispered, stalk still and listening for the telltale creak of the door upstairs. I released my breath when it closed, collapsing onto my bed, gazing blankly above me. _Wow._

_Well, I certainly feel more mature __**now.**_


	7. Chapter Seven

"I ask that you treat this as you would any researching endeavour or lesson; calmly and practically. As I have discussed in previous lectures, death is merely a part of life, and I expect you to examine this corpse as precisely you would a living man or mer."

My eyes were fixed upon the man laid before us on a cold stone slab, Bolor's voice distant and strange to my ears as he lectured. The basement was awkwardly still - usually during lectures or experiments there would be hushed whispers, the shuffling of parchment and scratch of quills. In the silence, I dared to think I could hear the dead man _breathe._

"I will give you one final chance - if you find examining the effects of poison after death immoral or are squeamish to the subject, leave now. After this warning, I expect all who remain to work diligently and without hesitation." I glanced up as Bolor gazed over us, the few students curious or brave enough to work at his side. He hemmed at the silence, lip curling. "Very well. Come, then - gather round."

A bitter chemical scent rose as I approached, as my gaze moved over the corpse - the subject. Bolor insisted we call them subjects, to distance ourselves. A Dunmer, sickly green skinned with a sunken chest, lines of fatigue carved into his brow and dark bruises down his stomach. A woman beside me made a face as Bolor lifted the subject's head, tilting open its mouth and rolling it side to side as though it were a not-quite ripe fruit.

"Can anyone tell me a sign of how the subject was poisoned?"

I bit my lip hard enough to hurt as an Imperial man coughed. "Ah, the bruising. Much like in cases of hemophilia, it is a sign of internal bleeding. Likely it was a rat poison."

"Good." Bolor smiled - _how can he smile?_ \- and turned to me, carefully laying the subject's head down. "And what effects would rat poison have?"

"I, um." I blushed, knowing he was expecting me to answer – this was my field of study, after all, potions and poisons alike. "Rat poison would thin the blood to a lethal point, causing hemorrhaging that would eventually lead to death. It seems like he - I mean, the subject - " I stumbled, words caught in my throat. "Seems like he - it, ah..."

"It wasn't accidental unless he was an_ idiot_." The woman at my side finished, glancing at me coolly. "No one eats rat poison. So the subject was murdered, obviously."

"Quite right. Had to pull strings to get the body here, I tell you. The Imperial Guard only let it go because the subject was a prisoner, and apparently not popular with his hosts." Bolor smirked, reaching into his robe to pull out a thin, curved knife with a flick of his wrist. He would cut open different sections, show us the effects of both poison and death before the body would be taken away…

Nausea hit, hard. I clutched my stomach to keep from doubling over, trying to hide my deep breaths from the others. Papa came to mind just for an instant, a distant memory of my first home shrinking in the distance, leaving him behind. The Dunmer would get a burial - he wasn't even given that much, was he? Probably burned away in a pyre with our old hovel, taking with it in smoke and ashes any traces of the disease that took him.

Seeing the Dunmer's head limply moved back in place, those sallow cheeks and shrinking lips, I realized I couldn't hold onto papa's face. Blurred and indistinct, features never able to quite group up together.

_Concentrate. Concentrate_. I breathed in through my teeth, hanging to the back of the clustered group around the slab_. Don't think about that right now._

"Now, then. Move aside, you." Bolor nudged a student out of his way, moving around the prisone - the subject's body, turning it onto its stomach and pointing to a sickly wound in its back. "As you can see, the poison was administered through a weapon - an arrow. The entry wound should still - ah, hah." Bolor moved his gloved finger around the wound, a cringe shuddering through the room as it gave puss. "It has thickened slightly over time, but some of the poison remains around the wound. And if I'm right..."

Bolor slid the curved blade under the subject's flesh in the wound, tugging gently and prodding around it. "Yes, the arrowhead is still lodged in there. Guards couldn't be bothered to get rid of it, I suppose. Surprised they even ripped off the shaft." The Imperial jerked back as Bolor stood, raising a brow. "Now, what could have saved this subject from his death? What restorative techniques should have been administered in this case?"

The class moved slowly, our answers hesitant but precise, Bolor treating the body as I had the apple he gave me on my first day at the university. As time passed, I began to slip into his mindset - seeing this as a lesson, a subject, a simple form of teaching so I could better learn the exact nuances of Alchemy and Restoration. I became absorbed in identifying the exact components of the poison we extracted, the scent that wrenched at my gut seeming to fade the world focused on my tools, my work.

It was then I began to understand what Bolor did - how he did it. And somehow, without the painful tug I'd felt before, I thought of papa. Of the times I sat by his side and watched him work, there-not-there and wanting him to myself as he eased the suffering of those around him, smiling. _Bolor is the same way – he wants to help_. Yet, they were so different. I paused, pursing my lips and staring into the dark vat of oil and poison, the elements separating, spiraling.

"Dust?"

I caught my breath as Bolor's hand landed on my shoulder, relaxing as he gave me a gentle squeeze. He met my eye with a frown. "Are you alright?"

"Y-yes. Just thinking."

"About what?" Bolor slid beside me, watching my extraction boil and swirl. "You did well, by the way. Very diligent, my dear."

"...Thank you." I barely heard him, staring into the vat, trying to concentrate, trying to hold those near-tears from before at bay. With work quieted now, it was harder not to let my mind drift, not to…

"So. What's wrong?"

"Nothing." The word fled my lips before I could stop it, an instinctive response from the days when Toltette wanted to care for me - when he thought he could be a father to me. When maman or Anya would pry and I'd clam up, convinced they couldn't understand. I didn't shift as Bolor sidled closer, brow raised.

"You are and always will be a terrible liar, Dust." I could hear the gentle smirk in his voice. "Usually, when I call you 'dear' or compliment your work you flush red a tomato. You hardly flinched. Come, now." I sighed as his arm snaked around me, as he caught my eye at last with a frown. "Was it the subject? The bastard deserved what he got, I tell you. And you can look around – everything's cleaned up." He chuckled, tickling under my chin like he did when we would tease.

"I _did_ look." I snapped without meaning to, standing, turning on my heel. "Didn't you see my notes, my work? I'm not some goddamn delicate princ - "I stopped short, wrapping my arms around myself and squeezing tight. The word came out in a whisper "… Princess."

"…My apologies, Apprentice." He spoke coolly, inclining his head. "Shall I leave you alone?"

I'd hurt him. "No. I, I'm sorry." I sighed, collapsing back onto the chair, still unable to look on the now clean slab. "Bolor, please. I didn't - "

"I know." He murmured, squeezing my shoulder again, then sliding his palm across my cheek so our gazes would meet. "The first is always the hardest. And you did work well. The subject was a murderer, you know." Another pause, long and thoughtful. "You needn't worry yourself over him."

I pursed my lips, letting myself relax onto his shoulder, blinking away the sting of tears. "It - it wasn't..."

It wasn't the subject. But I didn't dare tell him. I left High Rock to leave it all behind. The thought of bringing it up – no. It still hurt too much. I worried at my lip, breath held. "It's just – hard. To speak of. I…" A sigh. I felt, suddenly, very relaxed. Why _was_ I so frightened of telling him in the first place? He would understand, he -

_... Magicka__?_

I gasped, pulling from Bolor as I felt the sweet, alluring whisper of a charm spell sinking into me. "What the_ hell _are you doing!?"

"Eh. A spell?" Bolor grinned sheepishly, letting the spell fade from his hands. "I think you should talk about it, Dust. No sense in keeping it all bottled up."

"No sense in using a damn charm spell on me, either." I frowned, staring hard at him. The taste of the spell's energy lingered in my throat, sweet and beguiling and _why_, exactly, was I angry? _Bolor has such lovely eyes. Why did_ \- I cursed, squeezing my eyes shut to try and push off the charm, rounding on him again. "Damn, that was strong. I thought you were Necromancer, not an Illusionist."

"A bit of both." Bolor smirked, waggling his fingers at me. "And that's a _posthumous restorer_ to you, Apprentice. Now, then." He stood, slipping an arm around my waist, charming me again with just his smile. "As your superior, I _order_ you to tell me what is on your mind. Let's go for a walk."

The moons were shadowed, leaving trails of dim silver light across the silent grounds. I took a deep, slow breath of fresh air, cool and sweet and moist from spring night chill. Bolor glanced up, eyes bright in the dark as he took me by the hand and lead me to the alchemical gardens.

"Here. Sit." He grinned as I winced at the feel of cold stone, and I couldn't resist smiling back as I felt his gentle spell of warmth cloak my shoulders. "And tell me everything."

"What if..." I trailed away, stalling, but his smile was near as potent as his spell. Over the last few weeks since my birthday we'd stolen rare moments of touch and whispers, in the stacks of the archives or the privacy of his laboratory, but out here…"What if someone sees us?"

Bolor waved his hand, brushing off my concern. "At this time of night? All sleeping. Trust me. I always roam the grounds in the evening." A slow, soft chuckle. "No more dodging. _Talk."_

Slowly, I did. My story came out in shards, little, jumbled fractures of memory like the time I spent at papa's side, healing the ill. Learning my first spell from Falrung, how tapping that beat and seeing that little warm light still brought me comfort. Like waking up in his lap, like leaving them both behind. The sheep's cries, the smell of hide and wool, the rattle of carriage wheels and that no matter how hard I tried I just couldn't grasp the picture of my father's face, alive or dead…

I swore I wouldn't cry.

I did anyway.

He held me as I did, murmured, stroked my back and soothed away my guilt, my tears. Told me his own story – of the revulsion in Morrowind for his craft, of fleeing his family in his search for acceptance, for freedom, something I knew the need for all too well.

And together we went not to the apprentice's quarters, where we would usually part, but to his own room. Laying together entangled in each other's arms, murmuring until sound turned to feeling, into heat, then into a deep, gentle sleep.

It was the first time I awoke with him. Meeting his bleary-eyed smile with one of my own, I knew it wouldn't be the last.


	8. Chapter Eight

A year became two, two became three, and I knew I was truly _home._

As a girl, I ran from lessons. Here I embraced them. Working on assigned projects and studies to master the understanding of base solvents, memorizing reagents and their properties. Eagerly I catalogued everything, from the obscure to something simple as apple seeds crushed and refined to a deadly powder. I ran errands for the higher ranking members and professors, boiling water, tidying up laboratories, scurrying from place to place while trying desperately to cram in some time to work on my own studies.

And my nights – _well. _My nights became a very different kind of pleasure, with Bolor. We stole moments together, whether in his room for long, languid nights intertwined or only a quick meeting in the stacks of the Archives. The girlish infatuation I'd had grew into something deeper between us, kept all the more thrilling for the need to keep it secret.

Of course, we couldn't hide it entirely. Tar-Meena clearly suspected and under her gaze it was hard for me not to crumble. But, mercifully, she didn't press. I was relieved. I valued her and our friendship dearly. On our days off we'd visit the city proper, poring over wares in the market or wandering the Arboretum, playing and laughing through the festivals as they came and went. Cheering each other in triumph, supporting each other in failure.

All in all, I was happy. Happier than I'd ever been.

But of course, even the happiest days had to come with a _little_ frustration.

"… Had a difficult day, did we?"

It must have been easy to see, at a glance. My chin still itched. I still _stank_. And I was, undoubtedly, still _drenched_ in blood. I groaned and slumped against the door to Bolor's room when it shut behind me, opening one eye to deadpan.

"_It could have been better."_

"So the exam…?"

"I was doing fine – " I gratefully accepted a wet rag from his washing basin, scrubbing at my face so hard it hurt and walking to his desk to sit. "Until that sneaky, slimy little_ prat_ Marcus nudged me – _nudged me!_ \- and made me stab right into an artery. Of course it just spewe_d_ out blood, and the professor told me off and I know _very well_ Daedric Hearts are expensive, and after that the fetching little snake just _gloated_ and – "

"_Alright,_ deep breaths." I almost snapped at him but just a glance softened me. I couldn't stay angry, not with that smile of his meeting mine and _certainly_ not the way his deft fingers sunk into my shoulders to massage, leaving me purring. "You're certain he did it by design?"

"I _know _he did. Stantus has had it out for me ever since the position for working with Julienne reopened. He knows we're head to head for it, and he wants to push me out of the running."

"Mm. Be hard to prove, unfortunately."

"_Everything _he does is hard to prove. He's behind half the stupid pranks on the professors and twice now he's tried to pin them on me – "

"And I'm sure you were only responsible for a few."

"Two _entirely different _ones!" I protested, dipping my head back now despite Bolor's work on my shoulders. "And mine are good-natured. Gentle reminders to those lordly ones who get a bit too big for their robes." I shot up a grin at his own, letting my eyes drift shut as he planted a kiss on my brow and his long fingers traced further down to my collarbone.

"Like the itching powder on that s'wit Giraud last month? I wondered if that was you. "

"The same I used on my governess and my sister growing up. Samara from maple trees, rosehips and flour. Simple as it gets." I let a vile smirk spill from me. "The same I'm going to make sure dear Marcus gets a little sample of, just to remind him I'm not to be pushed around."

"I l_ove_ that wicked little mind of yours." His eyes lidded, teeth bared as he snickered. "If also relieved I teach a rather different set of students."

"Illusion students are almost as bad as us in alchemy. They just have less variety of wonderful things at their disposal. Or did you mean your necromancy ones? Nudging around the dead with spells to spook the apprentices, are they?"

Suddenly his smile fled, face cold. I frowned at Bolor's expression, the darkness behind his eyes as he gave a low chuckle and his hands slid away.

"Bolor? What's wrong?"

"Nothing, Dust. Just a bit tired today, myself."

I grabbed his hand before he could remove it entirely, giving it a gentle squeeze. "I want to help, if I can. Please?"

A pause, then a low grunt of affirmation. "Walk with me."

I followed. We made our way onto the grounds, to my surprise – though they were beginning to thin as late afternoon turned to evening, Bolor didn't much wander until night fell. For all his charm, he was a loner outside of his work. A little smile to myself. Outside of _me_. A certain pride in that, me being his, him being mine, even if only in secret.

He walked with purpose, past the thinning crowd to the University entrance, onto the high stone bridge that connected it to the rest of the city. We paused at one of the sides, leaning over the parapet to gaze at the landscape below. In the dimming light the rolling hills turned soft yellows, almost glowing as though the sun sunk into them. Trees cast long shadows, and the spire of White Gold Tower rose to one side of us as the University tower did the other.

"Beautiful night." I jerked out of my thoughts when he spoke. _Something's really wrong._ No humour, no real appreciation in his expression. He was moody at the best of times, but this – this was different. I sidled closer to him, sliding a hand up his back. Damned if anyone saw us, he needed me.

"Please, Bolor. Talk to me?"

A long, low sigh. His gaze rose, moving from tower to tower before returning to me. "I've heard rumours. The Arch-Mage is retiring soon, and there is one candidate in particular who will undoubtedly step up to take his place."

I furrowed my brow, shifting as his arm ran over my shoulders. "Who?"

A grin then, but a cold one, eyes closed as he shook his head with a bitter, mirthless chuckle. "Hannibal gods-damned _Traven_."

I bit my lip, trying to remember. Admittedly, guild politics were mostly above my head. Just my everyday routine kept me busy enough and as long as I was allowed to work in peace, I paid little attention to the true powers of the University and the Guild. "… I know that name, don't I?"

"The head of the Anvil Chapter. A staunch opponent of Necromancy. I have friends in the upper echelons, fighting his election, but it looks grim. I can hear the Council splintering even now." He dragged a hand over his face, his shoulders tight and pulled forward as though some great weight rested atop them. "If he gains the position, everything will change. He has these lofty, _fool _ideas about restricting access to the University, and more, he'd undoubtedly ban my craft from its walls."

My stomach sank. Admittedly, a part of me still feared Bolor's work. It touched on that which every mortal shied from, denied almost instinctively. But even in my own work, his reflected. His knowledge of anatomy and the body, the workings of it in life and death and beyond were invaluable knowledge for the healing craft. "He's an idiot if he does. Your work does _worlds _of good for us healers, Bolor. Some might twist it, use it for their own ends, but…"

"No different than rogue conjurers with their scamps, or mage highwaymen who threaten with fireballs." A scowl as he spat out his words. "Evils of necromancy, my blue arse."

I stifled a laugh at that. He pulled me in against his side and we fell silent, staring out at the landscape as oranges and gold turned softer, darker, shadows swallowing the hills and making them indistinct as the moons hid their faces behind heavy clouds. A cold wind blew past us, making me snuggle closer to him for warmth as I lost myself in thought.

My exam, my petty little rivalry – it seemed so _small_ in comparison now, and made me feel small in turn. I was still just an apprentice. I had no pull with the Council – they probably didn't even know my name. What could I offer?

Footsteps. One of the University guards coming off shift, hood pulled down. Bolor moved instinctively to pull away, but I held him tight, stepping closer. He frowned down at me.

_Damn the guild and their rules, their disapproval. Let them think what they want._ With a confidence I wasn't sure I had I reached for him, my hand on his cheek, the other snaking into his hair to meet him for a deep kiss. A tingle when he didn't pull away, warm even in the cool night.

The guard awkwardly cleared his throat and kept walking. I grinned up at Bolor as he chuckled, giving me a dazed, but pleased little smile of his own.

"Whatever's coming…" I let my fingers trace along his sharp jawline, down his narrow face. Let myself get lost in those eyes, even as I tried to keep my voice firm. "We'll face it together. No matter what changes, alright?"

"My Dust." My chest fluttered as he came in closer, a hand behind my back, smirk wide and eyes lidded. "You've blossomed since you've come here. From an anxious little apprentice…"

"Into an overworked, slightly _less_ anxious one," I quipped back, grinning as he snickered. I closed what little distance remained to rest my head against his chest, sighing. "That's because of you, you know."

"I can't take all the credit."

"Humble as ever." I pulled back again just to meet his eyes, almost aglow in the dark. He brushed a thumb over my cheek and I leaned into his touch, putting my hand over his. "Bolor."

"Mmn?"

"I love you."

It was the first time I'd said it.

His lips parted, but no words came at first. A tilt of his head, a slow, softer smile. "I always thought you Bretons threw around that word more frivolously. But you've been taking your time, hm?"

"I was – I was afraid." I felt suddenly bare in front of him now, not stripped without like I'd been so many times but _inside_, opening myself up. "That you might not want to hear it, might push me away. But if we're in this together…"

"We are," he assured me, pulling me in tight. Suddenly I was teary, giving a watery laugh muffled against him. "Whatever comes our way."

"I'll help you deal with whatever – whatever _bullshit _Traven throws at us, and you can loan me that ring so I can get Marcus back." Giggling in his embrace, foolish and bright and sweet. Love. I _loved_ him.

I wasn't afraid anymore because I knew, whatever we faced, we wouldn't do it alone.

"Dust."

He kissed me, and I gave in without hesitation. No care for who might see, no care for anything but this. For anything but the moment we parted and his lips moved to my cheek, for the low whisper of words that left him then.

"I love you, too."


	9. Chapter Nine

_My sweet Dust, _

_How have you been, darling? Keeping busy, I'm sure, preparing your first lectures, working with all the apprentices to help them settle in for the year. They'll be lucky to have a mentor in you. It doesn't seem so long ago that you were one, yourself._

I smiled to myself as I read mum's familiar script, tracing the elegant cursive. In the other hand I toyed with a dried sprig of mint, mum's calling card in every letter she sent, smelling just like her perfume. It really did feel like just months ago I was one of them – nervous and awkward and stumbling, so in awe of the new world they'd found. Her voice echoed even now, sending a bittersweet pang of loneliness through me. It was only because of her I was here, because she'd convinced my stepfather. Even now I kept her letter opener, the blade that had cut my hair and freed me those years ago.

_But you've grown and learned so much and, from what you wrote, the Alchemy head was impressed with your research - no matter how little you thought of it. You shouldn't be so quick to dismiss your hard work, chérie. You've put years into this, and you'll need confidence now more than ever to be a leader, a guide._

Five years. I had to remind myself that – five years now I'd been here, first as an apprentice, writing essays and theories, researching and running errands, reading and attending lectures. Now, I'd be helping write them.

No more sweeping up fallen herbs or scrubbing out used alembics, no more writing essays with a stack of books at my side, desperate to please my superiors. At least, _less_ so. I chuckled to myself, rolling my eyes and nudging away a few heavy tomes to make room for maman's letter. There'd still be _some _of that, surely. But I had more freedom, now – I could direct my own experiments, and Julienne had asked – _asked!_ – for my help in the Lustratorium, not as an assistant but as an equal.

_Where would I be now? _The thought made me shiver in both fear of what could have been and gratitude it hadn't come to pass. _If I'd been married off that night. If I'd never come here, never really got the chance to follow my calling. If I'd never met…_

"Bolor." I realized it just a hair of a second too late as a hand landed on my shoulder, making me jump. An exasperated sigh but I couldn't help myself, grinning anyway at where I knew he must have stood. "An hour of alone time, is that _really _so much to ask?"

A shimmer and the illusion faded, Bolor pocketing his ring with a smirk. I'd been getting better at catching him, by now – noticing the tell-tale glint of light in the wrong place, or the soft swish of his robes as he crept in. It'd become a game between us, one of many as we teased and flirted. "I simply can't resist you that long, darling. You cut out of the celebration early."

"Well, I _did_ celebrate, I just didn't stay. The courier came, and I've been expecting."

"From your mother?"

"Mhm." I fingered the parchment, inhaling the fresh, cool scent that so reminded me of her. "And I wanted to get back to work on my latest experiment."

"A watery drink of ale with the other graduates. Not much of a celebration, if you ask me." He muttered almost petulantly, grumble marred by the mischievous gleam in his eyes as he straightened and wound an arm around my shoulder, a kiss on my cheek. "I had something else in mind."

"That's _all_ you have on your mind." I swatted him away with a snicker, shaking my head. "Which means you can help me with this while I finish up reading. Go draw me some water, would you?"

He surveyed the list I'd scrawled on a note beside maman's letter, brows raising high. "Redwort, monkshood root, strawberries –reworking the aphrodisiac, hm? How industrious of you."

"It _is _industrious! Julienne is looking for potions we can sell to raise funds for a few projects this year, and there's not much that sells better. If I can finally get it perfect, we'll be set. Besides…" I had to smile, looking over mum's letter. "I enjoy doing this."

"Oh?" Subtle want in his voice sent a little shiver through me. "And what about tonight?"

"Well." I giggled helplessly as he kissed beneath my ear, tickling. A moment of shivery thrill before I reached up in turn, grinning. "_That_ will be enjoyable, too."

A purr. "I don't doubt it. I'll get some water up for your cauldron and leave you to it, then." I had to bite back a sigh as he pulled away, half wanting him to continue to tease and distract as he so often did. "You could try adding some imp gall, hm? Might help increase the, ah – _interest _it offers."

Not a bad idea, with a little sugar, some sodium carbonate to balance out the acidity. The Elf Cup had stamina covered, but as for _arousal_… "I'll do that." He left me to my reading again, finally letting out a low, slow breath and – shaking away the blush that had risen – picking up where I'd left off.

_How is that handsome Dunmer of yours? Now that you'll have steadier work and you're a bit closer in rank, perhaps it's time to start considering the future a bit more, hm? I_ giggled to myself, imagining her little smirk, the low laugh she'd give in her throat. _No arranged marriage this time, dear. Take it at your own pace. All that matters to me is that you are happy._

_Anya sends her affection – at least, all she can spare with the boys. _Another muffled laugh. Poor Anya – two pregnancies, three boys, all spoken of in her own letters with exasperation and adoration_. I know things have been hectic with the new rank and the changes at the University, but I hope you find time again to write soon._

_With all of my love and pride, chérie. I miss you._

_Maman_

"Oh, mum. I miss you, too." It was impossible not to feel a flicker of homesickness reading her letters, even knowing I'd never leave if I had my way. I'd write her again soon – tomorrow morning. I folded it up, inhaling the scent of mint one more time before sliding it in my desk with the others.

For now, as always, there was work to be done. Things _had_ been hectic – not just with work, but with university politics, something I'd always tried to strictly avoid. But with Bolor intwined, it had been impossible. The Council had fallen apart, old Arch Mage had left, and elected in his place was –

"That dull-witted, condescending, wrinkled sack of _shit!"_

"Bolor?" I slid around the corner into the alchemy laboratory, cradling sacks of ingredients in my arms. "Everything alright?"

"Yes – yes, of course. Come in, Dust." His voice had lost its usual charm, gruff and low. I left my reagents aside and approached him where he leaned white-knuckled over the cauldron, face twisted in a scowl.

I'd seen him like this more and more, over the past two years. Ever since Arch-Mage Traven had been elected – ever since necromancy had been banned from the university's halls. I pursed my lips tight, gingerly placing a hand on his shoulder. "What happened, Bolor?"

He shook his head, nares flaring, eyes alight with anger. Finally with a growl he pushed himself up and away, stalking across the stone floor.

"He wants me to turn it over – _all _of it. All my writings. Every ounce of my past work."

I stiffened. The Arch-Mage had made sweeping changes since he'd been here, splitting and dividing us into sects. Only on swearing to give up his craft was Bolor able to stay, turning his work from necromancy instead wholly to teaching Restoration and Illusion. But this… "That isn't _fair_. You've already given up the craft, just like they said – what more do they want?"

"To destroy it, _us_. To root out all we've done, even the good, and erase it from history." I hated seeing him like this – so frustrated, so helpless to do anything to stop it. "I don't even know how they realized I kept it."

"We…" I swallowed hard, wringing my hands in helplessness. I wanted to _help._ Somehow. Over the years since the reform I'd supported him, listened to him, comforted him, but it never felt like enough. "We could explain, couldn't we? Show them your work and tell them how much it's done, how – "

A smile, but there was no humour in it. Only weariness and affection as he planted a kiss on my brow, pulling away with a sigh. "Ah, my Dust. If only it were that easy. I'm sorry, my dear – I shouldn't worry you with my problems. Get a start on your potion, mm?" Relief, as the twinkle in his eyes returned. "I'm sure we could test it out tonight."

Poor Bolor. Or was he lucky? Always willing to be the test subject for some of my more creative endeavours. I grinned up at him, coaxing him down to me.

"I look forward to it." A slow, sweet kiss and he was gone, leaving me to my work and worries.

_It'll be alright._ It was easy to convince myself that, so pleasantly exhausted between celebrating and the new workload and nights spent so often in Bolor's bed without much sleeping. _We'll talk to them, convince them. He's clever, and his work is so good, and imp gall was just what this needed…_

Too easy then to stir in the prepared reagents, listen to the soothing hiss and burble of the cauldron, and relax. Too easy to lay my head down on the counter, just for a moment…

"Dust!"

I startled from my desk with a gasp, blinking sleep out of my eyes. What had I been…? Everything had been so soft, so pleasantly warm and sweet from the smell of my brew…

"_Shit!"_ I leapt up fast enough to knock back my chair, grabbing the handle of the cauldron as its contents hissed and pop. Dammit, this thing was heavy enough _empty_ –

A moment and Tar-Meena was at my side. "You have the left handle?"

"Yes – gods, _dammit,_ it's been at such a low boil for so long – "

"Well, let's get it off."

A few grunts and groans and we were able to haul it away, off the firepit and onto a stone groove beside where it could cool. I took at a glance at my faded, indistinct reflection within it, pink and filmy. _Dammit._ Well – maybe it wouldn't affect it all too badly. And at least it hadn't boiled over.

"Thanks, Tar-Meena. Gods, if you hadn't woken me up…"

"I've been telling you you've been working too hard."

I had to laugh at her chiding. Dragging a hand over my face I could feel the imprint of a book corner that must've dug into my cheek, the grit clinging to my eyes as I rubbed them awake_. I really was sound asleep_. "Maybe you're right. Did you need something?"

I finally caught her eye – or tried to. She looked away. A tingle of apprehension rose in me as I took a step closer, tilting my head to try and get a better look. "… Tar-Meena?"

She seemed to steel herself, a deep breath before turning and smiling again like nothing strange had happened. "The Arch-Mage wants to see you. Immediately." At my stiffening she hurriedly spoke again, soothing. "I'm sure it's nothing bad, Dusty. But you should go now, before you end up taking another nap, hm?"

"I –" Panic, buzzing and chaotic like a fallen hive. A hard swallow and I turned to gather up my books, glancing out the window. Dusk had fallen in the time that I'd dozed, the dimming skies turning peach_. What could he want with me?_ I'd seen him around time to time, and certainly heard enough from poor Bolor to know of him, but…

_Well. This is your chance then, isn't it?_ I tightened my grip on my satchel. _To defend him_. But why he'd want to speak to me himself, I couldn't fathom.

"I'll go now. Dammit, I hope no one comes along, wanting to use this, I don't have _time_ to clean up and bottle – "

"I'll find Bolor and we'll take care of it." That kind smile that I'd come to depend on over the years, the jingle of her headdress soothing. "Don't worry."

"I owe you one, Tar-Meena."

I ran – probably wouldn't do to keep the Arch-Mage waiting, and wondered. _Why me?_ He'd met with Bolor and other would-be necromancers many times, of course, convincing them to stay, warning them of new policies, but I was just – well, _me_. He had no reason to seek me out.

Did he?

All was mostly quiet by now, the evening humming with crickets and murmurs as students and teachers alike returned to their quarters or went for walks to enjoy the last of the fading summer sunlight. My footfalls echoed in the tower hall, announcing my presence whether I was ready or not.

"Ah, Miss Dust."

A stately greeting from a stately woman – Caranya of the guild council. Any peace of mind I'd managed to build collapsed immediately under her disdainful gaze. Robes mussed and dirty from work, hair half pressed in from sleeping on it, I must have looked a sight. Her lips pursed and she sighed, straightening to beckon me with a crooked finger. "Come along, then."

My chest so tight it hurt I followed her upstairs, trying to keep my breathing calm, not to trip in my hurry to keep up with her long strides. The council - _They aren't all here, are they?_

No, but the three was enough to make my insides plummet into my feet. Caranya took a seat, gesturing for me to do the same as the others – Raminus Polus and the Arch-Mage himself – gazed over me a little more kindly.

"Welcome, Journeyman." Traven looked – harmless. There was no other word I could find for him, almost as short as me, hair white and feathery, watery blue eyes crinkled in a smile as he took my hand to shake it. "And congratulations on your recent rise in rank. I'm certain it was hard-earned."

"Thank you, sir." I bowed my head and sat, all my lessons on manners and poise flooding back in at once and yet somehow not doing me any good. I still caught myself fidgeting, glancing around the room. "Sir, may I ask…?"

"Yes, I suppose there's no point in stalling, is there? You must realize this is unusual." His smile faltered some as he sat himself upright, folding blue-veined hands in his lap. "Raminus, if you would…"

"Of course, Arch-Mage." The younger man straightened, cleared his throat and pinned his gaze on me. I felt trapped, squirming. "Miss Dust, our Arch-Mage has, as I'm sure you well know, implemented many beneficial policies over the past two years. There has been conflict, but ultimately it will all be for the good of the guild."

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, and – did Caranya scoff just there, or had I imagined it? Still, I held my tongue. "Yes, Master-Wizard."

"But I'm also certain you realize that not everyone has been so – so _pleased_ with these changes. Now, you spend much of your time in the company of Bolor Savel, do you not?"

_Oh, gods._ I felt myself flare red. It was an open secret – we'd kept things more discreet at my lower rank, but since the night I'd thrown away that fear, we'd simply shrugged off stares of disapproval. There was no _rule_ against such relationships, after all; it was simply frowned on. "I – yes, sir. He's been a mentor and a dear friend to me. I know…" _This is your chance. _I straightened, tried to smooth and steady my voice. "I know and understand your policies, and I know he hasn't always been amenable, but the work he's done, the betterment he's given the restorative arts – "

A hand rose, silencing me. Traven sighed deeply, heavy lidded eyes falling shut before lowering his arm. "We know you think much of him, Miss Dust."

"Yes, sir, I do." I felt myself bolstered by the thought of him, by righteous anger at the unfairness of it all. "His old research, even the research you don't approve of – it's invaluable. He's obeyed every other policy you've implemented, sir, but – "

"Has he, now?"

There was something cold in that voice, cold enough to stop me dead and send a shudder through me. Grandfatherly no more Traven stared me down, calm but testing, probing.

"I…" My voice came in a croak. I inhaled again, tried again as I felt my mouth go dry. "Yes, sir, always."

Polus spoke again. "We have reason to believe that may not be the case."

"Has he been acting strange, as of late?" Caranya now, as smooth and confident as I wasn't. "Perhaps not speaking of his projects, spending more time in his private laboratory? Has he made any suggestions for your own work that seemed – off?"

"No_. No_." And yet, as I searched my mind – he _had _been distant lately, hadn't he? I'd been working so hard I'd barely had time for myself, nevermind both of us, but he'd been more frazzled, more nervous. Spending more and more time alone. I firmly pushed my doubts away. "He's – he's fine. The only suggestion he made recently was imp gall for a potion, and I'm sure it's a good one."

"Nevertheless." Traven shook his head. "As a member of our guild and our University you have a duty to us, Journeyman."

"And what's that?" I snapped, more harshly than I'd meant to. At Polus' stern glare and Caranya's raised brow I softened my words. "Arch-Mage, sir."

"To protect yourself and all of us from the insidious dark arts. You are in a unique position, my dear." A tilt of his head, his voice taking a kinder tone in the face of my anger. Soothing, trying to assuage me. "You being what you are to Mister Savel makes you of course inherently biased, but…"

"You are also the person closest to him," Caranya's smiled all teeth, coy and condescending, making me bristle. "And thus in the unique position of being able to watch him without suspicion."

My blood ran cold. "You want me to spy on him."

Polus shrugged. "If you want to call it that, yes."

"He's done _nothing_ to warrant this." I couldn't keep the tremor out of my voice. "He's a good man, one of the few who stayed on despite all these new regulations. He's been nothing but loyal to the guild, to _you_ – "

"And if that is the case," Traven cut me off again, a strength I couldn't have imagined steeling his voice. A pause and he softened. "Then there will be no cause for alarm, and we'll all be better for it. But if you find that he is doing anything, even for a moment, that sets foot outside the University's policies…"

"I trust him." I realized my eyes were wet and blinked furiously. _They're wrong, they're wrong and as idiotic and paranoid as he says, and I'll prove it_. "I trust him."

"More than the Arch-Mage?" Polus pressed me. "More than the Council?"

"Yes. No, I – I don't know."

"I realize we are placing a great burden on your shoulders, Journeyman." He almost whispered now, the old Breton, great brows lowering over old, old eyes. "But this is for the good of the University, and for yourself. I wouldn't see you risk your entire career because of him. You have so much promise, Dust." His eyes crinkled into half-moons as he smiled. "I'm an alchemist, myself. Our field is so often dismissed and ridiculed – it would be a great shame to see talent such as yours go to waste."

Such praise from the Arch-Mage himself once would have had me almost shrieking with glee. Now I only bit my tongue, fighting to keep my voice steady. "Thank you. Will that be all, sirs? Madame?"

"Yes." Polus stood as I did, following me to the top of the stairwell. "You will, of course, keep our meeting tonight between us. If Bolor _is _up to anything dubious, he must not be given the chance to flee."

"He _isn't_," I bit back. This time, even at the Master-Wizard's glare, I didn't falter. I drew myself up instead, breathing deep. "And I will. Goodnight, Master-Wizards. Arch-Mage."

I don't know how I managed it – perhaps Tucket's lessons on poise had come in handy, after all. But it wasn't until I was well out of the tower, alone near the gardens that I finally let myself crumple, let the tears come.

A spy. They wanted me to _spy _on him, on Bolor – my friend, my mentor, my lover. Asking me – no, _forcing_ me to betray him on pain of expulsion or worse.

"Fine." I hissed to myself with venom as I strode across the grounds. _Fine_. I'd act as their little spy, and I'd deliver nothing but the truth – the truth that Bolor was upstanding and trustworthy. Frustrated by the ban, yes, by the hatred for what had been his craft, but adaptable and dedicated to the guild.

I moved with purpose now, first to the archives – gathering up what little information was left behind on necromancy. If I was going to prove his innocence, I'd need to understand what could lead him to be seen as guilty. Once I'd taken as much as I dared I slipped out, the glow of swollen summer moons giving me light to read by through the windows of my quarters.

My aphrodisiac would have to wait. My new responsibilities, my planned research – they could all wait. This took precedence_. It's going to be fine._ A deep breath and I flipped open the first book, grimacing at gruesome illustrations of the undead.

_I'll prove them wrong. I'll show them. I can change their minds – I can change this._ A hard swallow. My eyes stung, but I knew I'd be here until I dozed off on my desk_. I can fix this._

The emperor died the next day.


	10. Chapter Ten

"Have you heard yet? Can you _believe_ it?"

I crept past crowds of students speaking in hushed tones, their eyes wide, rumours flying. No one had missed the news, and everyone had their own theory as to exactly what had happened.

"He was assassinated, wasn't he? By the Dark Brotherhood!"

"Oh, don't be stupid, they probably aren't even real. I hear it's all being faked – "

"Why would he fake his own death? The death of his _sons_!?"

I swept through the bedlam, somehow still trapped in my own little world as all of Cyrodiil panicked. I felt only a twinge of worry at the emperor's death – it all seemed too big, too politically charged to truly involve me. No, it was Traven's ultimatum from last night that still sat sickly in my thoughts.

That, and the lump in my throat knowing Bolor had been in neither his own bed nor mine, when I awoke.

"Dusty!"

"Tar-Meena – "The near hysteria caused by the news made us all jumpy, quick to fear for each other. I met her with a tight hug as she did me, parting to meet her wide-eyed golden gaze. "What in Stendarr's name really _happened?_"

"No one knows, yet. The Blades are keeping all mum." She spoke low, glancing behind us at the students crowding the grounds, still discussing the aftermath of Traven's announcement. We walked side-by-side, making for the laboratory. "But I do fear that it is true."

Still, the implications escaped me. I shook my head. "Have you seen Bolor? With all the hubbub, I haven't been able to find him."

Her scaled brow arched high. "He wasn't with you? After he bottled and labelled the potions last night, I thought for certain you'd never let him go again."

"He – but I didn't even _name _them yet." I frowned. _Why would he…?_

"Ah, but I think you'll approve of the name he chose." Warmth and amusement in her eyes, giving me a grin I returned. What had she once called him? A rogue? I could only _imagine_ what he'd gotten up to, now. Back in the laboratory she knelt over a crate.

True to her word they'd poured and bottled every dose, and each had a little label smoothed on. I had to laugh_. I don't even know how well the formula works, yet. _"You did all this with him?"

"I just helped bottle. Told him you might want to refine it more, not to waste the vials and parchment, but he insisted they were perfect." She picked one up delicately between claws, offering it. "Look."

A rush, a tingle down my back as I read the script and the name sunk in. Tears rose to my eyes, sweet this time, a little watery laugh escaping me. "_J'adore._ He makes fun of Bretony for how nasally it sounds _every_ time I use it, and he called it – " _Love._

That sweet, clever, wonderful man. How could anyone not see what I saw?

"Perhaps he's in his own laboratory, hm?" Tar-Meena grinned, giving me a little nudge on the arm. "Go find him. With everything going on I doubt we'll be getting much work done today, anyway. If Julienne asks, I'll cover for you."

My best friend. I beamed back and rose up to peck her scaled cheek as she chortled. "Thank you, Tar-Meena. So much."

"Just remember you owe me one. _Again._ Now, go on."

I ran. The halls were mostly empty, everyone still in shock discussing the news, but I could hardly bring myself to care more than I would the death of any stranger.

_J'adore._

I'd prove it.

Shuffling – movement in his laboratory. I swung the door open without knocking, panting, grateful, racing to him as he turned. "Bolor – "

Turned with an armful of scrolls, sheafs of paper, his own face nearly as white.

"Bolor." I froze in place, staring as he shoved everything into a bag. Not the only one – satchels for his work, another stuffed with clothes, a fallen sleeve sticking haphazardly out. "What's going on?"

"Dust. You're here – good, _good_. I was just going to finish up and find you." He dragged a hand through lank hair, brow slick with sweat, his pupils shrunken to pinpricks. I reached for him and he pulled away, only relaxing at the last moment and leaning back towards me. "You've – heard the news, I trust."

"Yes, the emperor." His hand felt clammy in mine. For once it was me squeezing his, trying to offer him comfort. "Bolor, what's going on?"

"I know what Traven asked you to do, Dust."

I felt the blood drain from my face. "How…?"

A hoarse sigh. "I have friends in the University, even now."

"Bolor –" I shook my head and stammered, pleading. "You _know_ I trust you, more than anyone, you know – I wasn't going to, I wanted to prove them _wrong_, prove that you're innocent – "

"I know, my love. I know." My knees melted at that and I remembered the little vial in my hand. I relaxed my grip, showing it to him in my palm as he gave a weary smile. "You like the name?"

My heart swelled. "It's _perfect._"

"I'm glad." So quiet, so somber. I'd expected – not this. His humour, his usual eyebrow wiggling and innuendo or even a declaration of love, but not _this._ "Then come with me."

The bags, suddenly, made sense. "You're – you're leaving?"

His expression grew grave. "It's not going to be safe here for someone like me, Dust. And in time they'll come for you, too."

"What do you mean?"

"Dust." He took both my hands now, squeezing them in his tight enough to make me want to squirm away. "They will blame us. Mages, magic-users. First the outliers, but then it will spread to the rest. In times of crisis, they will_ always_ blame us." I'd never heard him speak so gravely before, enough to make fear creep in.

The worst part was I knew he was right. We'd seen it time and time again in history – anti-magic sentiment rising up in times of upheaval for fear of the unknown, fear of power. I blinked back tears as he continued, voice a hoarse whisper.

"With the emperor dead, the city – hell, the _province_ will go into chaos, more than you can know. But we don't have to stay here, Dust." His eyes softened and I in turn, leaning into his touch as he cradled my cheek. "We don't need the school. Just our work, and each other."

"Bolor…" I didn't want to have to choose. As much as I hated being used like the Council wanted, this was still my home. "We can make them see sense. We can weather this, together, you know?"

"I want to believe that. Truly, I do." His brow came to rest on mine for a long moment before he pulled away. "Come on. I have one last thing to do, here."

I followed him to a closet in the wall, watching as he unlocked and pulled open thick wooden doors and reached out of my sight into the darkness of –

Oh. _Oh_, whatever was in that closet, it wasn't robes. I recoiled at the smell, coughing quietly and edging towards him. Chemical and rotting and – and –

"My poor creation. I'm so, _so_ sorry. It seems we won't be able to finish our work, after all."

Creation. He _didn't_. He – I covered my mouth, stifling a gag as it took one stiff step, then another out of the closet, towards me. Bolor turned with the pride of a new father, only faltering at the look on my face. "Dust?"

The thing was embalmed, stitched together and _moving_ and I shuddered as it lay its gaze on me. Its eyes – _her_ eyes – were glassy bright, untouched by years of decay, her jaw trembling like my own.

"Undead." I stared, unmoving. "You – you raised the dead. _Here_."

"Pah! Simple necromancy. There is more to her. My dear," I jerked, for a moment, thinking he spoke to me, but the – the _thing_ turned instead, its head creaking and long hair clinging to her bare back. "Show Dust what you are. Show what you can do."

I muffled a shriek at the hiss of fire, the sudden blast of heat and scorch mark left upon the wall. Not just an undead – a living corpse that could work _magic._

"Do you see the eyes? I restored them myself before resurrecting her, teaching her." Bolor whispered as though telling me a childhood secret, smile so sincere it ached to see. "She can see, Dust, she can _think. _Zombies are creatures of automatic response, hardly more than shuffling innards, but she is nearing sentience. She is the next step to resurrecting mortals from the dead whole."

_No. No. No._ Bolor sighed and smoothed back the thing's hair, caressed it the same way he would me. I shuddered, watching as it – she stumbled in place and gave a low, piteous moan. Her eyes – gods, her eyes were so alive, so pleading.

"She's in pain." I whispered. My tears broke at last as I shuddered, stepping away from it, her, _who was she?_ Just a corpse he had found, or had he –

No, no, this was too much, all too much at once.

"I'm afraid she is, yes. But sacrifices are necessary. I couldn't wait any longer to see what she could do. For this, a little pain is a fine price to pay. She's incredible, isn't she? The old eyes had to be replaced, of course, but – "

"_Replaced."_

"Yes, with another's. Fresher. They remain so, now – I enchanted them." Bolor moved towards me, closing the distance between us in a stride. "Can't you see? I am working on immortality, Dust, on the ultimate magick."

"No." Everything the books I'd read had warned me about, the mad, horrific ambitions Traven wanted so dearly to keep out of this school. Everything I'd denied he could be. "_No._ This is wrong."

"_Yes._ Please, Dust, you must understand. You have such a brilliant mind, such an open mind – " A pause, eyes sweeping over me. "Such an open heart. We don't need them, their petty laws. We can run away and be free, together. Leave with me."

This couldn't be real. It couldn't. The thing, the corpse croaked again, giving a full-body shudder that visibly rippled on loose, leathery skin.

Freedom. I'd fought and fled for it once before. Would I do it again? _But this is wrong_. I wanted to believe him, wanted to believe that there was a worthwhile sacrifice here but looking in her eyes, seeing her agony, _gods_ –

"I – "

"Bolor, Dust!" Tar-Meena, outside the door. I wheeled around, frozen in place, looking back to see Bolor's eyes narrow. He whispered, tilting his head.

"Don't answer her."

"Bolor –" I kept my voice low, too, a croak as tears overflowed. "Bolor, _please_, think about this. If you run, they'll hunt you down like all the rogue necromancers, they'll _kill _you. We can convince them, we can – if you just stop this, here, now – "

His eyes darkened. I bit back a shuddering sob, begging, thrusting that little vial at him. "Bolor – what you named them, the potions, it's true, isn't it?"

He didn't answer. I pressed him, desperate. _"Isn't it?"_

For a moment, I saw a flicker of hope. Of affection, of regret in those deep red eyes.

Then I was crumpling, boneless. The clink of broken glass, and in a hiss all went black.


	11. Chapter Eleven

My head – my head _aches_. A slow throbbing, swelling. Corpses often develop a buildup of gas in the intestines and belly. Am I dead? Bolor could fix me, couldn't he? I try to speak, to say something, but my words crawl through my throat like shards of glass. My tongue is thick and stupid against my teeth.

_Just hold still_. Bolor's soothing voice, his cool hands on my bare body. But something's wrong – his touch isn't gentle or teasing but _sharp_, painful in pinch after squeeze after pinch. And the taste in my mouth, chemical and dead –

_You can be free with me, Dust. No rules, no fears. Just hold still._ Flashes of sensation. A needle slipping in and out of torn flesh, burning, astringent liquid poured down my throat, glassy, feverish orbs of eyes dangling above me. _No, no, I won't drink it, I won't, I want to live –_

_You didn't let them live_, another voice, my mother's in a cold, low hiss like I'd never known it. _Your father and his little secret. You poured their drink, after all. You should have known –_

_But now you'll never need to die, not like they did –_

_Like you deserve –_

"_No!"_

I jerked awake screaming, cringing and panting for breath as everything swam into view. The world seemed bright, far too bright and loud compared to the deadly silence and cruel hisses of my dreams. Another voice reached through the fog, wavering.

"It's alright, Dust. You're _safe."_

"Tar-Meena?" _Blankets. I'm in a bed. _I groaned, gingerly reaching up and cringing at the throb of protest from my head. "Where am I?"

"The infirmary. Thank Mara you're _awake_." I whimpered as Tar-Meena caught me in a sudden hug, smiling half-heartedly at her mumbled apology. She pulled away to meet my gaze, eyes clouded, cupping my hands in her own. "I was so worried."

"I don't…" I blinked grit from my eyes, the remnants of a bitter dream still tainting my throat._ Bolor. Mum. But that was a dream._ I shook my head slowly, trying to drive the memory back as long as I could. _A nightmare._

"Jolga said you might have problems remembering." Tar-Meena seemed to speak softly for my benefit. _Why does everything hurt?_ My head felt as though it might roll off my neck at any moment, and I would have been grateful for the relief. 'What _can_ you remember? From yesterday?"

"I remember…" I pursed my lips, squeezing my eyes tight and grimacing at the resounding ache. _Traven. Traven's orders. The announcement, the emperor… "_The emperor, I remember – the emperor is dead."

A rasping sigh. "What else?"

"I think…" Bolor. His name stuck to my tongue like a burr, and I couldn't shake the sickly dread from my gut. The memory crept slowly from inside me, swelling until it tumbled from my lips in a gasp. "Bolor. He – and that, that _thing_ -"

"He used an illusion spell to knock you unconscious, we think. You fell and hit your head, bleeding when I found you." Tar-Meena gave a shuddering breath. "I was looking for you downstairs when Bolor pushed past. He didn't even _look _at me, kept walking when I asked where you were." She clenched her fists, eyes flashing with sudden ferocity. "I saw you on the floor, and the undead - " A shake of her head, as though trying to throw off the memory. "The undead _thing_ looking over you. By the _Nine_, Dust, I had hardly blasted it to ash before I ran to you. I thought you were _dead."_

_Bolor. Bolor is gone._

_He hates me._

"Oh." A simple murmur of understanding, calm and emotionless. "What happened to him, then?"

"He left. No one stopped him, they didn't know. I sent word to the Arch-Mage, but by the time I was able to find him after getting you help..." She sighed, eyes drifting shut. "He'll be… long gone, by now."

"I see." _Why can't I feel this?_ My own mind raged at me, trapped under a blank, stiff mask. _Cry, laugh, scream, something!_

"Dust?" Tar-Meena nudged gently, voice soft and sweet. "You shouldn't bottle this up. I know you're being strong, but I'm your friend. You can talk to me."

_No sense in keeping it all bottled up._

"I should have known better." The pain in my head blossomed, throbbing with each syllable. I squeezed my eyes shut. "It was too good to be true."

"Dust." Tar-Meena frowned, brow furrowed.

"I think - I think I need to be alone."

One final, sad whisper. _"Dust."_

"Please."

I listened to her footsteps, soft whispers against stone until the creak of a door and click of a lock left me alone, in silence. I gazed at the ceiling, watching as the colours of sunset bled through the window, staining it gold. I raised my hand, curling my fingers in a dim beam and playing with the floating specks like I did when I was small. Only half-awake, until at last sleep took me again.

I don't remember much, from those days. Tar-Meena by my side when I was awake, the bitter taste of potions forced down my throat. I'd managed a concussion from the fall and my thoughts were strange, spotty. I remember thinking in a daze of how to make those foul remedies taste better.

When I recovered I learned that my aphrodisiac was already selling well. Julienne had found them and taken the initiative, and soon had me brewing up more. I worked in a daze, never daring to look at the label, the smell of strawberries still laughably bitter. Cruel irony, but even through that I walked in a fog.

It was only after – a week? Two? That I finally really awoke, rubbing grit from my eyes and wincing at the sudden sharpness and clarity of the world.

_Dear Maman,_

_Much has happened since I last wrote. Bolor is gone._

The quiet scratch of my quill and the sputter of my candle whispered together, tracing secrets in the shadows along the walls. I sighed, gazing dumbly at my curled parchment before dragging a scar of ink across it in disgust. I crumpled it, tossing it aside with the rest of the letters I couldn't seem to complete.

"No, I can't start it like that..." I muttered, reaching for an apple on my desk._ I don't want to scare her, worry her._ Shaking my head I tossed the fruit hand to hand, biting my lip in thought. Bolor always scolded me, when I did that. Laughing, purring. _It's my job to be tasting your lips, dear._

My potions, my room, my memories – I was surrounded by him. And yet as much as I just wanted to give up, go back to sleep, I was too awake now to go back. I could only keep going forward. Even the apple reminded me of the day I first really met him. Still, no sense in wasting it. I went to take a bite and -

_That smell._

I froze, pulling away and gazing at the harmless little fruit in my hand. It came with my evening meal, as one often did this time of year. Bright red, firm, sweet and tart - all for the world the same as the ones I'd enjoyed all season. But this...

_An alchemist's work centers around her mouth, her nose and her gut._ Julienne had told me that once, wrapping a blindfold around my head for her test on wortcraft. _It isn't pretty, it isn't delicate like the other crafts, but it's true. You need keen senses to do well in this field, and we're going to find out if you have them._

According to her, I did. A sensitive nose and the sense to trust my instinct in my work. And something here felt _wrong._

I frowned, sinking my nails into its flesh and carefully watching. Normal. Utterly normal. But beneath the sweetness that made its way to me another scent lingered, bitter and faint and deadly.

_Poison._

_Who would want me dead?_

I knew immediately, and the thought lingered in my heart more bitter than any poison. _Bolor. He – it must be. Who else would want this?_

_He hates me. Enough to want me gone. But he left, how could he have…?_

I caught my breath, the hairs on my neck prickling. Movement. I _knew _I heard movement, however slight, however indistinct. I let my held breath tremble out.

"Bolor?"

No answer. Was that a shimmer by the door, or just a trick of the light?

I dared a glance over my shoulder, watching my candlelit, flickering shadow -

And that of the man behind me.

Bolor's invisibility – it wouldn't have cast a shadow. But a lesser spell…

It happened in an instant, in the flick of my wrist and crash of my chair to the floor. I snatched my letter-opener, twisting towards the door and lurching forward. My heart pounded, my throat squeezed out a scream and some part of me void of pride prayed for help from gods I'd never cared about.

_Oh gods oh gods let me out please don't let me die -_

"A pity. I wasn't certain you'd take the bait, but it was worth a try, was it not? A cleaner death for you, at least." Not Bolor. _Who_ \- I yelped as a hand clenched me by the hair, shoving me back from the door. Footsteps. I crawled backwards, trapped between cold stone and the faint silhouette of my killer.

A slow, creeping smirk materialized from the shadows.

"Not that I _mind_."

He approached without hurry, closing in with the confidence of a wolf on a wounded fawn. I shrunk low to the wall, unable to think, my fingers white-knuckled around the little blade that was my only protection. I kept it behind my back as he approached, drawing out his sword in a single fluid motion.

_I'm going to die here. Right here and now. No –_ I clutched the hilt even as I cringed away from his approach.

"Don't... d-don't..."

"I'm not a monster, pet. I'll be quick. Now, be still - "

I didn't. I leapt at him like a wildcat, not knowing what to do except to try to strike, try to fight. A grunt as he collided, then low laughter – it was the work of a moment for him to grapple me against the wall, to cinch my wrist in a spot that made all my fingers scream in pain then go numb, my own blade now in his hand, instead.

In his hand, up against my neck. Sharp, almost too sharp just for parchment, kissing the flesh of my quivering throat. I closed my eyes.

"...Where did you get this?"

"W-what?" I stared, watching him as he examined the blade he had pushed against my throat, his sword lengthwise against my stomach to keep me firmly in place.

_"Where did you get this."_ I caught my breath as he tickled beneath my jaw with the very tip of the blade. "I will not ask_ again_, pet."

_Maman? No, it couldn't have been hers before. Toltette_. "My stepfather. _Please_." I hated myself for begging. "Don't kill me."

"What is his name?"

"H-his..." I dared to meet his gaze and flinched. "Davide. Davide Toltette. He lives in High Rock, home, I…"

_I don't want to die I don't want to die, not like this, please, gods_ – his distraction with the letter opener and my own terror gave me new strength for a moment. I wrestled and squirmed under him, ducking under his grasp to race for the door again –

And stopped, dead in my tracks. It wasn't a sudden drop, not like with Bolor's spell. Instead, one by one starting with my legs, I went numb. Stiff, unable to scream, to fight, to raise even a finger in my own defense. Above me the man chuckled, darkly amused.

"No experience with paralyzation, my dear?" He knelt over me as I lay prone, the expression of shock I'd held still glued onto my face. "You having that blade makes things a little – _complicated_, but never fear. We'll have all of this sorted out, soon enough." Without missing a beat he picked me up and slung me into his arms. I felt the shimmer of Illusion pass over us both - no one would see us leave.

_No, no - I am not going to die, not going to be dragged away!_

Instinct, fuelled by anger and terror, took over. Fighting the spell I sank my teeth into his shoulder, smiling inwardly at his grunt of pain. A curse became a snicker, sending a shudder through me as I knew I'd regret what I'd done.

It didn't take long. He pulled me back and I caught a glimpse of his features, thin lips pressed into a crooked smile, before the heel of his palm came at my temple. A ragged tear of pain split through my skull before the world crumpled in on itself and fell still.


	12. Chapter Twelve

I had been dreaming again, surely. The thought came slow, irritated as I roused and groaned at the throb of my skull. I'd dreamt of a black horse with red eyes. A man with a dagger-sharp smile. Travelling, thrown over a saddle like a sack of potatoes or apples…

Apple. Poisoned. Had that been…? No. I...

My head hurt, hurt worse than even after Bolor left, but I wasn't in the infirmary. I wasn't somewhere soft and warm, the smell around me old and musty instead of astringent. And gods, my mouth tasted _awful_…

But not unfamiliar. Alkanet, water hyacinth. A heavy sedative. Little wonder my limbs felt filled with lead, my head impossibly heavy on my neck.

Through what felt like massive effort, I managed to drag open my eyes.

Stone walls, old stone, unkempt and crumbling. Flickering candlelight, a strange, low rumble all around me. Footsteps, murmurs, creaking. I went automatically to stretch and stiffened as I found my arms firmly bound to the chair I sat in, behind my back.

_Where..._

The man. The apple, the man, taking me away, it was _real,_ all real, and someone was coming close. I held my breath, shut my eyes and tried to pretend I was still out but it was too little, too late.

"Ah, good. You're awake."

Panic swelled. A new voice, a new stranger regarding me coolly. No point in hiding it now – I opened my eyes, shrinking under his gaze. Not a tall man but foreboding, face carved deep and gaunt with lines, eyes a crimson that didn't match his deathly pallor and between parted lips, the tips of fangs.

_Vampire. I'm tied up with a vampire._

"_No _– " The ropes creaked as I struggled, but didn't give. I knew they wouldn't but I had to try, didn't I, I'd_ die _here if I didn't at least try to fight –

"Ah, now." I gasped as his hand fell to my shoulder, craning uselessly away until I felt magicka seep in sweet, lulling. A part of me was protesting – I'd read about vampires, their ability to entrap and seduce their prey but I was so, _so_ tired, so sore and really, I wasn't going to get out of these ropes anyway…

"Better." He took a seat before me, inclining his head in a way almost gentlemanly. I slumped in the chair even as I grit my teeth, part of me spitting against the spell, part of me already docile. "Now that you're awake, I have a few questions for you."

"I…" I squeezed my eyes shut. It couldn't hurt, could it? Better to play along anyway, to protect myself – but was that truly my belief, or was it the spell talking? "… Alright."

"Good. The ebony blade you held – tell me how you came to possess it."

"My mother gave it to me." The explanation left automatically, without struggle. "As an engagement gift. I was supposed to get married. It was hers, her letter opener." But it couldn't have been hers to begin with, could it have? _Gods,_ my head hurt. "My stepfather must have given it to her. She couldn't have afforded it before him."

"Mm. Interesting. When was this?"

"Five…" _Stop talking,_ _stop!_ _But why should I stop?_ Easier just to give in, and he was being polite enough, wasn't he? "Five years ago, how, how long have I _been_ here? Where am I? Why am I here?" The letter opener, the dagger. It all seemed to revolve around that, somehow.

A little smile curled the vampire's lips, a chuckle too soft to be mocking and too sharp to be polite. "That's not what we're speaking of."

"They'll – they'll notice I'm missing. The university. They'll come for me."

"We would not be so sloppy, I'm afraid. No, it would rather appear instead you left of your own will." The smile turned sharper still. "Now, what is your name?"

"Dust."

An arched brow, the same I often got upon introducing myself. "Is that a given name, or a surname?"

I grit my teeth, dredging up the energy to fight the spell. It wouldn't allow me to directly disobey, to lie, but this wasn't _exactly _a lie – it was both a surname, my own and more. "Just Dust."

"Well, that's a _stupid _name."

The vampire's patient, tranquil expression withered. A little sigh. I craned my neck to see who had spoken as she sashayed in – a girl who could hardly have been older than me, all golden curls, big blue eyes and pouting rouged lips.

"Slayer…"

Slayer? This girl, looking over me with a giggle as she beamed, he called _slayer?_

"Well, it _is_. She doesn't look so good, does she?" A mocking little cluck of her tongue as I glared back. "I don't know why you bothered tying her up. I could slit her throat before she could even beg for her precious Divines."

_Oh. Alright. I_ shrunk back in the chair, in my binds. _Yes. Slayer does fit._

"Did you need something, Sister?"

"Oh, I just wanted to poke my head in, see if she'd woken up yet."

"So she has." The vampire stood, hands folded behind his back as he addressed the blonde Breton. "And I've heard all I need to, so your timing is fortuitous. I believe it is your turn to watch over our prisoner, yes? I have other duties I need to attend to."

"But – "

"No arguments."

"But, Vicente - "

"_Antoinetta." _A hint, just a hint of warning in that cordial tone.

"Well, fine." She sat with a huff, pouting after the vampire Vicente as he left before turning her gaze on me. "You'd _better _be entertaining."

The spell that had made me docile before left with him. I glared daggers, curling my lip to retort before managing to stop myself. _Calm down_. _Don't antagonize her, don't give them a reason to hurt you. _I bit my tongue, bristling, digging my feet into the stone floor. There was nothing identifying about this room – a few pieces of old furniture, stone walls – no windows, no paintings, just eerie black and red tapestries and, _dammit, where am I?!_

Well – one thing was familiar, almost uncomfortably so. The little squabble between the vampire and the girl was all too close to my own with Anya, growing up. "… He called you sister."

"I don't look like him, do I?" The girl - Antoinetta wrinkled her nose in distaste. "That'd be _awful._ No, we're not related. It's something better than that." She smiled, a dimple at the corner of her cheek. "Now, don't ask any more stupid questions or I'll cut your tongue out. The Speaker will deal with you soon, anyway."

"The Speaker?" I flinched at her glare, remembering her threat.

"Speaker. The man who was going to_ kill _you." She enunciated as though talking to a child, rolling her eyes. "There must be a reason he kept you alive. Though he hasn't said yet, and you don't look too valuable." A wicked grin. "Especially with a name like dirt."

"Dust. _Dust_." I squeezed my eyes shut against the throb of pain in my head, snarling. "Why am I here? What the hell do you people _want _from me?"

"Don't be rude!" The girl pouted. "I'm not really sure. I just know it's because you had - Wait..." I watched as she fumbled with her belt, brandishing a blade and turning it over before me. "Like this one."

Silver and ebony, tendrils of gold whispering over its surface. This dagger had seen blood - it was worn and dulled in the designs around the hilt, years of hard use behind it. _Not mine, but._.. I bit my lip, following the golden design with my eyes, my breath caught in my throat.

_Identical. Identical to mine._

"It looks like yours, right?" Antoinetta smirked, sheathing it. "Only _we_ can possess one. It means we're family, you know. A family of murderers!" She giggled, eyes shining. "But you're not one of us, are you?"

Dread rose from my gut. "...No."

"So, who gave it to you?"

_Maman could never have afforded it._ I shifted my gaze, gluing my eyes to the ground. _Not while Papa was alive. So Toltette. It was Toltette's, and he gave it to her._

_Papa died, and Toltette took us away._

"My stepfather," I whispered, my skin prickling chilled as his face, cold and disdainful, came to mind. Suddenly, everything made a terrible kind of sense. Papa's sudden death, our family being whisked away to join him, my mother's remarriage - _He killed them. He killed them both_. I shuddered, something deep inside me twisting into a painful coil._ He's one of them, got what he wanted through blood. Papa, Falrung – he killed them, killed them so he could wed and bed my mother -_

"You're all pale." Antoinetta gave me a curious glance. "What's wrong?"

_All this time. All this time, and I never knew. _"Family," I spat, bracing my feet against the floor. "_Family._ That's what's wrong."

"Sister."

"Oh!" She rose, clutching her hands and smiling at the familiar voice. "Speaker, what an honour. How may I serve?"

"You may attend to your duties, Antoinetta." Unable to see behind I could only imagine the face, made from snatches of memory. Dark eyes, a proud nose, lips thin and harsh and twisted in a smirk. "I would like to speak with our guest."

The girl scurried away. I tensed, flinching at the creak of the door, watching as the man seemed to simply form from the shadows.

"Hello, pet._"_


	13. Chapter Thirteen

_Speaker._

The man moved towards me in robes liquid black, gloved hands intertwined and a dark smile on his lips. I watched him carefully, eyes narrowing as he moved past me. He placed something on the table before him, a coy scent rising. Wine? I could only catch moments of his movement from behind his back until he turned.

"My apologies for the wait, Miss Dust." A small smile, cultured and cool. I shuddered, and the barest sign of a smirk tugged his lip as he offered me a silver goblet. "Might I offer you a drink?"

"My hands are tied, you fetcher," I snarled, my head throbbing from our earlier encounter. How long ago had that been? A day, two, more? "Unless you want to _bottlefeed_ me, I don't think I'll be having a drink." I grimaced. "And you've poisoned it, no doubt."

"Suit yourself." He gave a lazy shrug, sipping from his own and holding my gaze as I glowered. Cold and cruel and refined. His smile remained polite, but his eyes were black ice. Even as I hated myself for it, I couldn't quite stop a shiver from clambering up my spine.

"Who are you?"

"Ah, of course. I am Lucien Lachance." He bowed his head as he spoke, a mockery of courtesy. His voice both harsh like smoke and dulcet in the same breath. "Speaker for the Dark Brotherhood, and Master of this Sanctuary." He - Lucien raised a brow as I watched the wine, shrinking as though it might bite. "I assure you, it's not poisoned. I have no wish to kill you." A dark laugh. "For the moment. And I_ do _apologize for the binding. Just a precaution." He placed his goblet down, still maintaining that infuriating façade of a gentleman. "You understand."

The Dark Brotherhood. So they were real, after all. I'd heard of them, of course – everyone had, but only some believed they existed. Pulling and plucking strings from the shadows, bringing down empires…

Tearing families apart.

"So what are you keeping me for, then, if you're not going to kill me?" I hissed with surprising venom, able to taste the acidity of my own words. "If you're going to - " I was cut short quite literally by the snick of his dagger from its sheath, my throat tightening. I held perfectly still as he swept around me, poising his blade at the arch of my back.

_He said he wouldn't - oh, gods -_

"Hold still."

My bindings fell loose. Puzzled I rubbed my wrists, burned and raw from rope. I spoke hesitantly, hardly daring to break the sudden silence. "...Are you freeing me?"

"Freeing you? No." That smirk again, the simple gesture enough to boil my blood as his words set in with finality. "Not yet. I simply see no point in keeping you bound for the remainder of your stay. And I have no intention of bottle-feeding you." I flushed at my own words as he offered me the goblet again. "High Rock's finest. Your home, was it not?"

"Years ago. Not anymore." Some part of me, the part that drove me to alchemy, drove me to magick, perked in curiosity as I examined the wine. _He drank it_. I ran my finger around its rim, raising my finger to the light to catch the faintest glimmer of potion. "What's the serum on it, then? Something to loosen my tongue?" I laughed bitterly. "Your vampire questioned me already and besides, wine alone could do that."

"I suppose it could, if not as effectively. You're quite the alchemist, pet." I grimaced at the endearment, hand white-knuckled around the silver stem. "A shame we met in such poor circumstances. Your services could do much for our organization. Perhaps, if your stepfather is indeed one of our own -"

Stepfather. _Services._

"I want to hire you." The words tumbled from my lips, curt and cold. He paused, frowning. I relished a moment of triumph at having caught him off-guard.

"Hire me?" Lucien spoke slowly, as though tasting his words. A slow smile curved his lip. "I'm afraid you are in no position to do so, but you've piqued my interest." He leaned back, smirking. "Whatever could you need _me_ for, my dear?"

"My stepfather. I want him dead." _Dead, like Papa. Like Falrung and Sirius and anyone else he's ever killed._ There was no thought behind my words, only a cold, bitter thirst for justice. "I'll pay well. Whatever you ask."

A sharp laugh, wry and twisted. "But your stepfather is the reason we cannot kill _you_, Miss Dust. The dagger you held on the night we met, you claim it belongs to him. That makes him one of us, one of the Family." The way he spoke it seemed heavy, more than just a word but a title, weighted with meaning.

"You see, even for assassins there are laws to be obeyed. And the blood of family, if you are indeed the child of one of our brothers – that is _never_ to be lightly spilt. To break such laws is heresy and will invoke the wrath of our Dread Father." He stood, beginning to pace around me. "So, we cannot safely kill you until we are certain he somehow came into possession of the blade without us."

"You don't understand what he's done." I shut my eyes, whispering to myself as a coldness crept over me. "He murdered my father. I want him dead. Whatever you ask, I'll pay it."

"No amount of gold could force my hand to break the tenets." His voice hardened, eyes gleaming as the politeness was replaced with a cruel, sharp edge. "Murder isn't so uncommon, Miss Dust. Every night, in shadows across Tamriel, man, mer and beast alike beg the Night Mother to kill. She speaks, and we obey." He laughed in his throat. "_You_ weren't even a proper contract, or else your death would have been sanctified by our dark matron. The ending of your life would have been as simple as snuffing out a candle, a favour for a friend."

_Not a proper contract? A favour? _I pushed confusion aside, instead snapping back. "And if he isn't one of yours, what then? You would be able to kill him, wouldn't you?"

"In that case, I would simply kill _you_ and be done with this mess." He raised a brow. "Why are the pretty ones always _daft?_"

The backhanded compliment hit me with a slap, sending a rush of heat to my cheeks. _Two can play at that game_. I spoke with a rictus grin through gritted teeth. "For the same reason handsome Imperials are always lacking _where it counts_."

Lucien snickered. My breath hitched as his dagger – another twin of the one they'd taken from me – slid up to graze under my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. "And shall I cut that wicked tongue out of your pretty little mouth? It shouldn't be much longer, in any case. The moment I had your stepfather's name, his location, I informed our contacts in High Rock. They've been watching your old family home, my dear. And soon enough, we'll know the truth of all this."

The manor - I froze. _Maman. Maman is there. If they hurt her -_

"Speaker."

The vampire. I lowered my goblet to the table as the 'Speaker' had and stood, watching cautiously while he raised a brow at Vicente. There was something – yes, an envelope in his hands.

"So soon?"

"It was sent through our own avenues a few days ago, not by courier. And it appears to be enchanted." A nod in my direction, leaving me wishing I could vanish into the shadows myself. "I suspect, Speaker, that only our guest can open it."

A moment's pause. I squirmed under the combined weight of their gaze, finally drawing a deep breath. "Well, then – you'd better have me open it, hadn't you?"

Wordlessly the vampire handed me the letter, giving a little nod as the man called Lucien hung back and regarded me coolly. I fingered the parchment, only able to guess at what was within. Toltette, telling them of his past? Telling them they were free to do away with me as they pleased? I could picture that. But why direct it to me and not them?

A faint hiss of enchantment fled at my fingertips, recognizing me, letting me break the seal – the Toltette family crest, impressed on wax – with no trouble at all. Folded parchment inside, and –

Mint. Cold realization trickled in like ice water. A sprig of mint.

_No._

"Read it aloud."

I gave Lucien a bitter scowl, then inhaled.

_My dear Dust,_

_I know you must be confused, must be terrified, but rest assured I am coming to get you as quickly as I can. Tell your hosts that I demand you be treated with every courtesy, and in particular…"_ I laughed, half in desperation, half in disbelief. _"Tell Lucien that if he touches a hair on your head, I'll hang him by his unkempt toes and flay him alive._

_I will be there soon, chérie, I promise you. And I will explain everything then._

_Abelle Maria Dust Toltette."_

A silence hung heavy in the air as I finished, bundling the letter close to my chest.

No sense. This made no _sense_, none at all. Unless…

No. It simply couldn't be.

"Well. The hag lives." Lucien enunciated with a wolfish smile, more a show of teeth. "Will wonders never cease."

"Surely that is no way to speak of your old mentor, Lucien. I had known she had a daughter in Cyrodiil, but I never thought…" Vicente in contrast smiled, looking at me now with new eyes even as I shrank. "I see the resemblance now, yes."

"I don't." Lucien stood and cornered me, examining me as I gripped the letter tight. A tilt of his head, that wicked smirk returning. "It seems you've been given a reprieve, Miss Dust, however brief. We will keep you here until your mother arrives, and this can all finally be dealt with. But make no mistake…"

His voice lowered as he took my chin in hand. The smirk was gone now, eyes dark as chips of flint. I held back a shudder, not wanting to give him that satisfaction. "You are our prisoner, and at our mercy. I suggest you stay on your best behavior, pet."

He turned and left me with the vampire, slumped against the wall for support. The scent that had once given me so much comfort, fond thoughts of home and family now made my head spin.

_It can't be. It just – can't._

Vicente watched me for a long moment, red gaze flickering up and down before he bowed his head again. "I will show you a place you may rest, for a time. Follow me."

I moved after him in a fog, still clutching the letter, still reeling at what it could all mean. A part of me feared I already knew but I didn't dare look too closely at it, not now. Like prying my gaze from an open wound, trying to pretend it didn't exist as though that could make it go away.

Prisoner. A prisoner while I waited – and all the way from High Rock, it would take _weeks._ Trapped in here, this – this dungeon, this tomb. I caught only glimpses of the place I was condemned to as I followed him, noting thick wooden doors, strange plaques on the walls, the eyes of strangers gluing to my back until we were alone again. Some kind of dormitory room reminding me, in a strange way, of my apprenticeship – little spaces separated by dividers, each with their own storage.

"Lucien is correct." The Breton man spoke slowly, as though considering each word. I didn't dare meet his gaze. _The resemblance. It can't be true_. "You are our prisoner here, and thus at our disposal. But you won't be mistreated."

"Because of my mother." I'd spoken without realizing it, a whisper.

"Yes. I imagine Lucien told you why." A pause, the faint smile on his lips reflected in his voice. "Gabriel."

I stiffened. It had been _years,_ since I'd heard that name. "How do you..."

"Abelle wrote to me, after she left Cyrodiil with your father." There was a gentleness in in how he spoke now, not the soothing illusion of before but something genuine. "She told me of her daughters. Of Anya becoming one of our brokers, of sending you to the University. I might have recognized you sooner, had you given your true name."

"She never told us – " His words fully sunk in. "… Anya. Anya works for _you_?" My sister. My noble, demure, dutiful sister, no, no, _no_, how could everything be falling apart so _fast?_

"After a fashion. She is skilled in the more subtle arts of our work in High Rock – discrete communication, transferring funds, turning politics among the nobles to our advantage. Making things run smoothly." And gods, I could picture it, too. Unflappable, logical, silver-tongued Anya. It was always Anya and mum who paired together, selling what we could scavenge and make when papa was alive, going to dinners and balls and socials when she remarried…

I sank onto the nearest empty bed, breathless.

"You knew her, then." My voice rung empty, hollow as I felt. "My mother."

"I did. It was here she became a member of our Family. We worked closely, and I think fondly of her still."

Laughter but not laughter, the sound I made then. Crackling and sharp like the parchment crumpling in my hand. Fondly. Well, so had I.

And now?

"You should rest. I imagine Lucien kept you mostly sedated during your travel here. Some real sleep would serve you well."

_Don't patronize me._ I bit back the remark and let it sour and die on my tongue, avoiding his gaze. "Thank you."

Finally, I was alone with my thoughts. There were two other beds filled, but neither shape under the covers stirred as I lay back atop them, staring at a stone ceiling.

_Why._

_Why papa? Why Falrung?_

_How could she betray him, like that? Betray us? And Anya. How could she pretend she didn't know? How many people –_

… _Sirius. Sirius, too. _I had to inhale to catch the hitch of a sob, not wanting to wake the sleeping forms around me._ That must have been what he was so curious about. Rumours. He found evidence, got too close to the truth and…_

I couldn't hold it back anymore. Instead I turned, burying my head in the pillow to muffle ragged breath, whimpers. It had all happened so fast. A stack of cards come tumbling down with a nudge of just one. Bolor, that 'Speaker' taking me away, learning that… I bit my tongue hard enough to taste copper, both to stifle sobs and try to control myself. _Think. Think. There has to be something you can do. Some way out, some…_

But what would be the point? They would hunt me down again, surely. And one way or another, I would have to live with what I'd learned here, without answers.

I needed to see her. Needed to look her in the eyes and confront her, one way or the other. And no one else would be coming for me – the vampire had said as much himself.

I was trapped, and I was alone.

And it was only when I rolled over that I realized I still held the letter, the cool scent clinging like a film. Part of me wanted to throw it away, into the nearest fire. Part of me wanted to read again, draw out something I'd missed before, some explanation, something to bring some sense into my suddenly chaotic word.

As it was, exhausted, I fell asleep with it clutched to my chest.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

I would have thought the worst part of being a prisoner would be the chains. Being unable to leave and see sunlight, inhaling stale air day after day. Thinking of the blue skies and emerald grass of the university grounds, wondering if I'd ever walk them again. Or the scorn of my captors - the disdainful stares from the residents of my new dungeon annoyed me, but I they were as much as I got. None of them spoke to me, bothered with me.

No. After a week, it was _boredom_. Because boredom left me alone with my thoughts. Without answers I was lost in a whirlpool of questions, and all I could do was flounder.

I snapped the book shut with a thud, growling through my teeth. Truthfully, it could have been so much worse. True to Vicente's word, no one raised a finger to me again. More – he seemed to go out of his way to peer in on me from time to time, offering me access to his personal library which I quickly gave in to. I had clean clothes – it seemed their method of ensuring I'd simply 'disappeared' was packing some of my things and leaving a little note, like I'd run away after the betrayal I'd endured. I was fed, sheltered and largely ignored.

_It would almost be better if they beat me._

"Oh, _Du-ust_!"

I regretted my thought immediately, jumping in my chair at the shrill sing-song call, Antoinetta strode in, stopping to give me a pout at my stare. "Oh, for Sithis' _sake_. Nobody's going to hurt you, remember? Stop jumping every time I look at you funny."

Snotty,_ vapid_ little – "Then stop looking funny," I shot back. _Oh, yes. Very clever, Dust._

But she grinned and tittered, a glint in her eyes. "See? That's what I like to hear! There's no fun in a coward. Now, come on. I'm making you useful."

Useful? I blinked and, after a moment's hesitation, stood. As an afterthought I put the book down on the chair before moving to her, skeptical. "What do you mean?"

"Follow me!" And with only that she pranced her way through the place they called their 'Sanctuary.'

In the week I'd been here I'd learned only a little of my hosts. A few books in Vicente's collection detailed local rumours and history, but it was nothing I couldn't have found back in the Mystic Archives. When things were quiet I sometimes wandered, finding reminders of what this place really was. The Guardian construct, creaking its way back and forth with a heavy blade strapped to its bones. The 'Tenets', those plaques on the walls I'd noticed before that detailed the laws of their organization.

And the Black Door. It was the Speaker who'd taken me in the first place that found me examining it.

"Looking for a way out, are we, pet?"

I'd ignored him at first, trying to dodge answering his nudge. Yes, I had been. Even knowing it would only mean my death I at least had to_ look_, had to know. But this place was, as promised, sealed tight. There was a well to the surface but the hatch had a padlock. I'd picked up a few alteration spells in the University for practical use, including one for locks, but next to the hall where so many passed through it would take too long to use it before I'd be spotted. A dead end.

And this door…

Sealed, of course, but there was something_ disturbing_ about it too. It felt like it could sense me, like it could _breathe._ Like it could hear my heart beat, making it echo in my ears.

"What – is this thing?"

And, to my surprise, he told me. The history it held. I could see it even now in my mind's eye, the eerie, foreboding carving and the story he told – of a mother sacrificing her children so ruthlessly…

Well. It wasn't something I wanted to think about too closely.

"Here we go!" Antoinetta pulled me from the memory with a grin. The kitchen and dining hall. For a place seemingly of death and decay they were surprisingly well stocked. Counters and cupboards of dark wood scrubbed clean, a large hearth, strings of dried herbs hung alongside pots and pans. _It makes sense, I suppose. They have a whole Family to feed._

I made a lot of those little jokes to myself, in those weeks. They didn't do much to help. I shook my head and followed behind the girl half-dancing to the cupboards, humming as she picked out this and that.

"What do you want, then?"

"You're an alchemist, right?" She was pulling out food seemingly at random. "And alchemist is _basically _a fancy mage word for a chef, right?"

I wrinkled my nose. "Well, not exactly. Alchemy is a much more precise art…" But, well. It _did_ involve combining ingredients in the right amounts, doing the right things with them to achieve the desired effect to be consumed. And I did enjoy cooking almost the same way I did my craft.

Perhaps she had a point after all. "… Anyway. I can cook, if that's what you're asking."

"_Perfect._ I'm making a big meal for tonight and I need the help. Well?" She blinked at me as though stunned by my stupidity, standing there waiting for instruction. "Come on! Let's do this!"

"Are you going to tell me – " I barely caught the head of cabbage she tossed my way, glaring over it. "Tell me what we're cooking?"

"Ugh." A roll of her eyes. "I have to do _everything, _don't I? That's the reason you're _here_. I've run out of ideas. I know I don't _have _to cook, everyone can make their own meals, but I _like_ to, you know?" Without waiting for my answer she charged forward. "But everybody's got such different tastes and you never know exactly who's going to be at the table and who's going to run out on contract, so half the time I have to end up doing bread and stew, over and over and _over._"

I blinked. "There's nothing wrong with stew."

She gave me a withering glare. I had to purse my lips to keep them from twitching into a grin. It was just – just so _absurd_. Amidst all this heartache and fear for what lay next, _this?_ A toss of her hair. "There is when it's all you eat. Now, come here and help me _think_."

To my own surprise, I did and I did without complaint. Even if it meant chatting a maniacal, giggling murderer, at least it made me concentrate. At least, even for a little while, it drove all other thought away.

Besides, through her chattermouth I could learn a bit more about this place, the 'Family' and its members I'd only glimpsed from afar as she regaled me with their preferences. Gogron and Telaendril, an unusual couple and a play in opposites as brash Orc and shadowy Bosmer, but both apparently with a taste for red meat. M'raaj-Dar, the Khajiit whom I'd learned quickly to avoid after I'd felt more than a few of his scathing glares at my back, and who liked his food sweeter. The Argonian twins Ocheeva and Teinaava, who liked strange spices and preferred fish, Vicente who rarely ate here, and certainly not at a table…

It didn't help me much in my current situation, but anything could be valuable. I had to try not to chuckle to myself as she finished carrying on, giving another dramatic sigh. "You see? It's impossible."

"Nothing's _that _impossible, just difficult. Why don't we make pies, but with a few different fillings?"

It was her turn to dumbly blink. "What?"

"Well, the hard part is making the pie crust. Then you just chop up the meat, or vegetable, or fish, or whatever they'd prefer and throw it in with some kind of stock. It's not fancy, but it's individual and – "

Her eyes narrowed, making me falter. I worried for a moment I'd somehow angered her and as impulsive as she was that could be dangerous, even for her earlier reassurance. I hadn't forgotten how casually she'd mentioned slitting my throat.

But instead she grinned, giving me a little flick on the nose. I wrinkled it, frowning as she giggled. "I guess you got into the University for a reason, huh? I never thought of that. Good job, prisoner."

"Thank yo – " I cut off as the last bit clicked in, biting down on a sigh.

"I think I like you. But Dust is _still _a stupid name. Here, take a cutting board. You can do the salmon. I_ hate_ filleting fish."

For the first time in days, I felt my shoulders relax. Felt my mind go quiet, focused on the tasks at hand as I extracted delicate bones, chopped fruit, decided on spices. It was stupid and cowardly and ridiculous that I was obeying, _cooking _for my captors, that I was _enjoying _it, but at least it was something.

I could worry about regret later. For now, there were pies to be made.

I was filling the last as Antoinetta criss-crossed the top of hers with strips of pastry – 'to make it look pretty!' – when we were interrupted. Soft footsteps behind us, a gentle clearing of the throat.

"Forgive me, ladies." Faint amusement in Vicente's voice. "I see you are both hard at work. Sister, your skills are needed. Come with me."

"Ooh!" She perked up at my side, laying down her work and dusting flour off her hands in clouds. "Yes, Executioner. Dusty, can you fix these up for me, pretty please with berries and cream?"

In a matter of hours I'd gone from 'prisoner' to 'Dusty.' I smiled, even feeling a sinking in the pit of my stomach. 'Her skills.' I could well guess what that meant. "… Of course."

"Thank you! I'll just have to try one for myself next time. Let me know if the others like them!" She grinned and left with Vicente, leaving me alone to finish and tidy up. Alone with my thoughts.

I kept my hands busy, putting the pies in to cook and scrubbing them red and raw cleaning, but that couldn't distract my head. I hummed to myself instead to drown out the noise, the unanswered questions growing in volume to a scream, and humming turned into song. A childhood song, lost innocence and regret, one I'd practiced in lessons alongside dance, harp and lute, known now by heart.

"_Sous les feuilles d'un chêne, je me suis fait sécher._

_Sur la plus haute branche un rossignol chantait…"_

"I haven't heard that song in nearly a century. It was your mother who taught you, wasn't it?"

I stiffened. It was true – she'd sung it often among many lullabies when I was a girl. Vicente stepped up beside me, nodding to the oven. "Thank you for helping Antoinetta. I'm certain she appreciated it."

I swallowed hard. I never knew that to do around him, this man I should hate, yet was so unfailingly polite I almost felt guilty for my anger. I shrugged. "It was something to do."

Wordlessly he began to help me finish cleaning. We worked in silence, me trying to ignore his presence, finding it impossible. Her Family. He'd been – was – a part of her Family.

What did that make me?

I dredged up the courage to speak, throat hoarse. "What was she like, back then?"

He didn't need to ask who I meant. A quiet moment of watching me before he began. "Driven. Clever. Ambitious, but loyal."

"To you." My voice shook. "To murderers."

He didn't try to argue with me. Only let me stew in my anger until we had finished our work, regarding me once more. "I suppose you must be bored to tears, waiting for her." A small smile. "You've well raced through my collection."

"Thank you for letting me use it." It seemed the best thing I could say. Keep it cool, keep it detached.

"I believe I can offer something more. Please, accompany me."

Wondering, I obeyed. We wound through the 'Sanctuary' again, this time to the lower level, stopping beside a set of heavy doors where Vicente knocked. One of the Argonian's room; Ocheeva. I kept quiet in my confusion. She hadn't glared at me with venom, not like some of the others, but I didn't want to test my luck. _What's he doing?_

"Assassin." He bowed as she leaned out. I was beginning to learn their titles, ranks. It was odd, how the vampire spoke so deferentially to even those below him. "I apologize for disturbing you."

"Not at all." The golden eyes were the same but beyond that, I saw no reminder of Tar-Meena in her. Tar-Meena, for all her hard work in the stacks, was witty and warm and sweet. I could almost feel the cloud of frost emanating off Ocheeva in contrast, especially as her gaze moved to me. "I trust our _guest_ is keeping on her best behavior?"

"She is, in fact. I believe you'll enjoy what she prepared with Antoinetta for supper." That little smile again, gone as soon as it came. "She is also an alchemist. I believe we may have some use for her in the duration of her stay, if you would agree."

Ocheeva's eyes narrowed. I kept my gaze firmly glued now to my feet, feeling my face flare hot. _What is he doing_? "And if she attempted to poison us, with such tools at her disposal?"

"Then I'm sure she would know not only she, but her family would suffer for her actions." It came out so mildly that it hardly seemed a threat at all, even as my blood ran cold. Veiled, yes, but a warning nonetheless. Ocheeva watched me a moment longer, then gave a curt nod of agreement.

"Remove the more dangerous ingredients. She is to be searched after every session in there _and_ before cooking, if Antoinetta _insists_ on recruiting her into the kitchen again. Have her make healing potions – it's safer, and we are running low. We can at least make her earn her keep but, Vicente - are you certain this is wise?"

"I will take full responsibility for any mishaps. Thank you, Ocheeva."

"Very well, Executioner. I trust your judgment." A bow of her own and she left us, the heavy door falling shut. I remained silent until we were well away again.

"How do you know I wouldn't do it anyway?" I didn't like this. This confidence, even so mannerly, this assumption that I was a docile lamb who'd do as I was told. "My mother, my sister betrayed me."

"And yet, you love them still."

The retort caught me like a slap. I blinked, open-mouthed but unable to formulate a reply as he bowed his head.

"And furthermore, I am told you are quite a talented alchemist. The kitchens are well-stocked, not with ingredients so lethal as the laboratory, of course, but nonetheless. You know how to draw poisons out of the most innocuous foodstuffs. Do you not?"

He – he wasn't wrong. It wasn't an easy thing, of course, and I couldn't have done it with Antoinetta anyway, but I knew some foods could be used for dangerous ends. Even enough to cause sickness rather than death – that might have been enough for my purposes, had I wished to weaken them and make my escape.

But. I finally spoke, a murmur. "It never – I never thought of it."

"You are as capable as any one of us at ending lives, in theory. In practice, it wouldn't come to mind unless you were in immediate danger. There is reason why your mother never told you of us, of her past." His parchment-pale, gaunt cheeks, the corners of his eyes wrinkled in a smile. "And I have become a good judge of character, over the centuries. Please – follow me."

We entered a room that had been locked to me before. Bitter-smelling and musty, dimly lit by a torch on a wall sconce. A table for work, surrounded by jars and bags, with apparatus scattered over it and cauldron pulled to the side. Tools I knew better than my own hands. Not as extensive as my laboratory at the university – at home, I thought with a pang – but…

I felt the tears come to my eyes and knew I couldn't hide them, wiping them away, instead. It came out weaker than I'd wanted, hoarse and tired. "Why are you doing this for me?"

"Because you are your mother's daughter."

I startled but Vicente only smoothly turned, inclining his head to the Speaker as he approached. Unlike the other members, he didn't seem to reside here permanently – slipping in and out as it suited him. The vampire told me he preferred the solitude of a Fort, to the East of the city. I'd seen him only a few times each stay, and each time I watched him with a mixture of caution and venom. _Slippery, skulking bastard…_

He only smiled in return, first to Vicente, then to me with a hint of amusement. I glowered harder. "Rude, to eavesdrop."

"I can hardly eavesdrop in _my_ Sanctuary, pet." I rankled at the name again, crossing my arms over my chest as he turned his gaze, sharper now, back to Vicente. "I understand you have asked Ocheeva to allow our guest in the laboratory. I know it better than anyone. Why don't I introduce her to it?"

No, _no_ – as much as I knew I should hate Vicente, at least he was more familiar by now. The Speaker – I'd spoken to him only a few times since the night we met, and that night was still fresh in memory. But Vicente only nodded in agreement, apparently ignoring my dismay as he left me alone with _him._

"Shall we, pet?"

"I am _not_," I hissed back, caustic, "Your _pet._ And I know my way around a laboratory well enough alone."

"But it would be impolite of me not to show you it, you a guest and as an alchemist myself." When he smiled now, I noticed a little white fleck of a scar on his grizzled cheek. I knew that mark well – I had a similar one on my chin from an exploding vial. I narrowed my eyes nonetheless, keeping my arms crossed, my shoulders tight, letting disdain creep into my tone.

"A _poisoner,_ you mean."

"Is the difference so vast? And I hardly make poisons alone. You should well remember, after our little journey from the Imperial City."

I remembered _not _remembering. Fuzziness and pain. Up and down motions from the back of a saddle, blearily catching the world passing by in glimpses. How long had we travelled? It couldn't have been that far, a day or two at most. Any more and the frequent sedation that must have kept me docile would have been dangerous. But I still had no idea where we _were_, though I'd heard references to family members going 'into the city', heard noises of civilization from the shuttered well. Underneath a town, then? But which one?

"Figuring out where you are will do you little good." He chuckled at my look of shock, then dismay, lip turning in a scowl. "I could practically see the wheels turning behind your eyes."

I inhaled deep, steadying myself before putting on a show of a smile. "Show me, then."

"With pleasure. We had very little in the way of alchemical supplies before I became Speaker of this Sanctuary. Now, as you can see, we keep it well stocked. You should have little trouble brewing what we need."

I examined the supplies, the equipment, having to give grudging approval over what was here. Kept in good shape even after use, the essentials well-stocked – though over my shoulder I noted Lucien taking a few of the smaller satchels. Lethal reagents, undoubtedly.

Speaking of lethal - my gaze strayed to a burlap sack of apples. "More of your poisoned ones?"

He near purred in response, challenging. "_You_ are the alchemist, are you not? You tell me."

I plucked an apple from the bag, bringing it close to my lips, dragging my thumb across its skin. No trace of powder, no film of venom. And it didn't smell of it. I pressed a nail into it, catching the sweet scent I well knew. "It's harmless."

"Oh?" A throaty chuckle. "And how certain are you of that, my pet?"

I held back the twitch of a scowl, considering him for a long moment. _Fine. He wants to play? To taunt me? Fine._ Without hesitation I took a hearty bite of the fruit, meeting his questioning brow with a wide smile. "_Quite_ certain."

Gods, the look on his face was sweet. Not quite shock but certainly surprise, slithering into a pleased grin. "You really knew, didn't you? I must admit, I stand corrected."

"I'm always happy to educate." _I may be your prisoner, but I can go toe to toe with you, you egotistical git._

"And I am, I assure you, your _humble_ student." His voice was loaded, dripping with false humility as he bowed his head low, glancing up beneath dark brows. "Although I would offer you some advice of my own."

"And what would that be?"

"Firstly, not to get too comfortable. Vicente treats you well because you are Abelle's daughter, and he remembers her fondly. But you are still an outsider. Your fate is still uncertain, pet, and regardless of what privileges Vicente affords you, you are still our prisoner."

I shook my head with a humourless laugh. "Believe me, I'm well aware of all that." I'd been trying so hard to not think of my situation, after all, only to be slapped with it time and time again. How could I ever get too comfortable? "And secondly?"

"Simply that it is unwise to leave one's hard work alone too long to cook."

"Well, _student,_ sometimes overbrewing is just the secret – it certainly worked for my aphro…" It trickled in. My face turned almost as red as the apple in my hand. "You're taking about the pies."

"_Quite."_ Oh, gods _dammit_, he was feeling the same way I had not a moment ago, undoubtedly taking great pleasure in knocking me down. "So before you settle in with pestle in hand, why don't you run along and take care of that, hm?"

I had no retort for that. I could only huff and bristle and scamper off, feeling his gaze burning into my back, his words echoing through my head. Too comfortable. It sickened me to admit even to myself that he had a point.

I was trying to distract myself because every waking moment otherwise was spent thinking of _her._ Of what she'd done. Trying to wade through it, make sense of it – it was still raw and confusing and starkly painful, and knowing that soon enough I'd have to face her, face the truth of…

_Be strong._ Part chiding, part comfort. _Be strong or you'll never make it out of here alive, anyway._

Who could say what would happen, when she arrived? Everything I thought of her had changed. Perhaps she'd turn on me, let them kill me like they wanted in the first place…

At least that conceited Imperial bastard was wrong about one thing.

The pies were only _slightly _overcooked.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Author's Note:** Hello again, folks! I wanted to thank all you readers for following me in Dust's story, both those new to her and those who know her from older versions on another site. Thank you guys so much, from the bottom of my heart. I'm really enjoying getting to expand on Dust's story and share it with an audiance both old and new. I also want to give thanks to my best friend Paula who has been helping me by proofreading, encouraging and generally just being awesome. Thanks, guys. I couldn't do this without you.

* * *

"Hard at work, are we?"

By now I knew the Sanctuary's laboratory almost as well as my own. I spent as much time in there as I could – sometimes just to sequester myself while I read, others to lose myself in the familiar craft so close to my heart. Though Antoinetta occasionally recruited me as her assistant in the kitchen, I was mostly left alone.

… _Mostly._

I glanced up from my work with a sigh, shooting a little glare. The Speaker. At first he'd largely ignored me, but ever since our last encounter he seemed to make a point of greeting me, being smoothly, infuriatingly polite.

"I've prepared a half-dozen poison antidotes in the past two days. Considering I'm your prisoner, I think I've been working plenty hard." I glowered, turning away to scoff when he met it with a smirk.

"I'm certain, pet."

"And _I'm _certain I've asked you not to call me that."

"You have." An agreement as amiable as I could ask for and it left me seething, leaning against the back wall to watch as he looked over my work. The second batch of three was still slowly bubbling, vapours of steam curling as the heavier liquid settled. "Done with healing potions?"

"You must be better stocked now than you have been in _months_. I'm running out of ideas to work on."

"Is that so?" He seemed almost indifferent for a moment, lost in thought if not for the subtle edge on his voice, the slight twitch of a smile. "A pity you couldn't make some of that Hunter's Poison, for us. Or perhaps – what is it you call it? _Butterfly Bait?"_

I felt my face go red hot. Those weren't generic potion names – those were _my _recipes, my creations from the University. "Wh – _how_ do you – "

"I'd be a fool not to have looked into the reputation of our guest." Came the reply, cutting me off as I bristled. "Your situation is unprecedented."

"So you, what, pried into my life to make sure I'd _behave_?"

"More or less." _Godsdammit._ I grit my teeth and glared, unable to come up with a good retort as he chuckled. "If it's any consolation, there was very little of interest."

"Oh, that makes it _much_ better."

"Although hearing of your past projects from our contact at the University…" He tilted his head. I swallowed hard, trying not to let that thought creep in too deep. One of them had lived in my _home. _"You've a knack for unusual creations. How does the Hunter's Poison work, mn? Humour me, as one alchemist to another."

_I'll tell you where you can shove some poison_ came the thought, but I didn't dare voice it. Polite as he was over the mocking, beneath even that was the subtle, but constant threat. I was still a prisoner. I was still expected to behave.

A deep breath. "… Moldy cattle fodder. Livestock were dying in birthing season from hemorrhaging, and some of us were tasked to find out why. When we discovered the mold on their clover and hay was a potent anti-coagulant…" I shrugged, not wanting to seem overly interested. Not with _him,_ at least, even if we were talking about my favourite subject. "It seemed the natural use. It's not hard to reproduce and after the meat is cleaned and cooked, it's safe to ingest. Less long chases for the hunters, less suffering for the deer."

"Fascinating." A drawl. I shot another glower.

"If you're just going to stand there and _mock _me – "

"And the Butterfly Bait?"

I threw up my hands. "Parchment. Berries. Isinglass. It makes it easier to catch them."

"…And _J'adore_?"

I could _feel_ my face glow red, suffusing heat creeping up my back even as I was frozen in place by that slow curl of a smile. Swallowing hard, trying, trying to come up with some blistering insult that would sear that damned smirk right off his face. "… Is an _aphrodisiac_, in case you lack experience in such matters."

"I must confess I do. I've never seen the need for them."

"Oh, I'm sure your charming personality takes care of that." I pushed myself off the wall to stand taller, though it didn't have much effect. Still, sneering and stepping closer, giving a laugh of my own. "Women do_ love_ assassins."

A wolfish grin. "You'd be surprised."

"Ugh." I shook my head, looking away and hoping my cheeks didn't burn as bright as they felt. Admittedly, I could see it. He was handsome – lean, a strong jaw, sharp eyes, a silvery voice. A ladykiller, in the most literal of senses. A shudder down my back and I turned away, confidence fleeing.

From the corner of my eye I saw his brow raise. "Something the matter, pet?"

"Did you have any more questions?" I cut to the heart of it, uncomfortable now. Not that I'd ever truly be _comfortable _around them, but I was reminded again what he was. What he would have done to me. That my life, even now, hung by a precarious thread of chance. Still, thinking of maman was even worse. At least this was some distraction.

"You said overbrewing was key?"

"Simpler ingredients, a longer time to concentrate them." I remembered what I'd said when I'd first began experimenting with it, presenting it as my project to sniggering professors. "An alarming amount of alchemists use minotaur horn and _boar testes _as the age-old remedies. Mine is Elf Cap and Monkshood for stamina, with Redwort drawing out the best properties of both. Imp Gall for -_ interest_, and Strawberries for flavour."

The more I explained, the more suspicious I grew. What did he want from me? Was there something he wanted to hear, to confirm? Or was he just doing this to mock me? I pursed my lips, daring a glance back in his direction again. "… Why are you asking me all of this?"

The smirk didn't fade, but something in his eyes changed. More focused, perhaps. "Call it professional curiosity."

"Like your prying into my history?"

"Precisely."

I bit back a growl, moving to lower the blue-gold flame under the retort to a gentler flicker. A little longer and it would be the right viscosity, enough of the solvent boiled off to keep it from being watered down…

_Gods,_ I missed this. I was here doing it now, but I missed my work, I missed my _home._ My throat went tight, eyes stinging before I blinked back tears. I was _not _going to get all weepy in front of this bastard.

"And did you have any other projects?" He phrased the question more airily now, politely as though he were simply an acquaintance doing his duty in asking after me. Other projects. Other goals cut short, left behind to maybe _never _be finished –

_No. No, I'll get out of here._

_How?_

_Maman will come, and –_

_Even if I go back, Bolor –_

I had to take a moment, gripping the table white-knuckled and inhaling deep before replying. "… One."

"Oh?"

I shot him a look. "Don't laugh."

A catlike smile, the purr to match it. "Whyever would I _laugh_, pet?"

"Because everyone else does." I rolled my eyes, crossing my arms over my chest and glancing away again. "… Clean water."

Both brows rose, prompting further explanation. I sighed and tried to explain, as I had so many times before. Scoffing professors, giggling colleagues. Even Bolor had told me to focus on more 'realistic' pursuits. "As a _fellow alchemist_ – " I glared for a moment as he smirked – "I'm sure you know how important it is to use pure, clean water for potions."

"Which is why one distils it to clean it. Does that require further study?"

"_Yes."_ I turned the flame lower still, watching the bubbles turn to no more than ripples at the liquid's surface. A little oil was enough to heat something this small, already concentrated. If only it could work scaled. "Distillation takes _work._ In large amounts – the amount you'd need to fill a cauldron, for example – you can't use oil like a lamp, and you'd need to chain a flame atronach to the distillery to keep it hot with magicka. You need to chop and lug firewood, set it all up properly, and it takes _hours_ to boil as sterile as possible…"

"Not very patient, are we?"

"I can wait. But many alchemists don't, especially shopkeepers. They have to produce enough to keep up with demand, and that means cutting corners." I inhaled again, remembering the presentation and thesis I'd given years ago, only to have it shut down. I'd never entirely given up on it. "They don't boil as long as they should, or think wellwater is clean enough on its own, or _gods,_ just take it straight from the river. Potions get contaminated, don't work as well as they should..."

"There are standards for bakers, winemakers and butchers. Why would alchemists go unchecked?"

"Because alchemy is fickle as is – even wellwater good for drinking could have contaminants that might ruin a potion. And gods know in wartime or sickness there's no _time_ for questions. You make what you have to, quickly, to keep up with demand. A simple method of cleaning water quickly, in larger amounts, would make all those issues moot."

The laugh was softer than I'd expected, not the usual bark of derision. A chuckle as he slowly shook his head, brow cocked. "That is - a _lofty_ goal, pet."

"That's what I've been told." I shrugged, not sure how to take his reaction. It wasn't outright support – not that I would have trusted that in the least – but neither was it the mockery I'd braced for. "But I'd rather go for something lofty and fail. It could change everything. For shopkeepers, healers, chapels." Thinking of papa, of how an entire cauldron might only fill a dozen bottles when all was said and done. How many sick, waiting for treatment while another load of firewood was hauled up. "It could save lives."

"Mmn." The polite smile was back, just tinged with enough of an edge to keep me suspicious. He moved past me, uncomfortably close in the small room, to take two of the healing potions I'd made days before off the shelf. "I believe I have what I came for."

I frowned. "You could have just _asked_."

"I did." A bow of his head before I could retort. "Good evening."

I watched him go, biting back another sigh. Was it evening already? I couldn't tell the passage of time, down here. One day bled into the next. And what did he mean, he did? _You never asked, you git, you just pestered me with questions and pushed me aside to grab them –_

A tingle down my back. He _did_ ask. Not about the potions. That wasn't what he came for, after all. No, it was _me._ Me and my blabbering mouth. He'd looked into my history at the University, he'd asked me all these questions because he wanted to know how I ticked.

_Why?_

_Because you're a prisoner. He can't kill you off and he can't let you go, so he wants to make sure he can predict you._ I scowled, remembering how accurate Vicente had been, knowing I wouldn't even think to try and poison them all.

… I could try. I had thought before, after the vampire had mentioned it, that I could at least have made them ill. Made my escape, run back to the old life I missed so much –

But to what?

Bolor, gone. A target on my back. And _her,_ arriving to find me already fled…

It had been three weeks. Not much longer, now.

I tried to push her face from my mind, tried to bury myself back in my work. But now even that made me think of papa, of working at his side. Made me remember in fuzzy glimpses that cold morning, and how it was all because of her…

She'd killed family before.

Would she again?

I realized too late I was crying, a tear creeping down into the tray where I'd poured the brew to cool. Just a drop, a single impurity, possibly enough to ruin my hard work.

Gods _dammit_ all.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

"Good morning, Dusty!"

In the four weeks I'd been prisoner here, I still never became used to a padfoot's footfalls. Every damned time, Antoinetta managed to creep up on me while I was busy. I bit back a sigh and put down my washing, flicking soap bubbles off my hands. I had only a few robes, and I was doing my best to keep them clean down here, washing them in the kitchens where I could stay out of the way.

"Good _morning,_ Antoinetta."

"_You're_ in a mood. Is it because of your mother coming soon? Any day now, right?"

_It should have been days ago_, came the thought, but I didn't share that. A strange mingle of feelings – the raw anger driving me to near tears every time I thought of her, but even still I was worried about her. What if something had happened on the way? The thought ached, anxious and uncertain. If she was hurt…

Not only that, I worried for myself. What would happen to me, if she never arrived at all?

I could guess.

"Hello? You awake in there?" Antoinetta snapped her fingers in front of my face, pulling me from my thoughts again. "I need a favour." I was beginning to think the younger Breton liked having me around. She seemed to be one of the lowest on the rung, here. Must have been nice, having someone else to boss around.

"_Yes?"_

"Well…" She dragged the word on her tongue, glancing up coyly while digging something out of her pocket. A little vial, filled with – I recognized it immediately, eyes going wide as she snickered.

"I knew you'd make that face! _You _made this, didn't you? You! Little miss pestle-humper in her frumpy robes! I wouldn't have thought you the type. Have you _used_ it much? Got a handsome someone back at the university you used to test it?"

Heat climbed up from my collar to the edges of my hair. _Mara, mother of mercy, get me out of here._

"Well, it works like a charm. I used it in a contract down in the Imperial City once, help make him more – more happy to be _alone_ with me, you know? Poor bastard still had his 'sword drawn' even after I slit his throat!"

_Mara, if you have any goddamn mercy, you will strike me dead now._

"Could you make some more? We have all the supplies here, I bet, and Vicente said you could use the laboratory. Please? _Pretty _please?"

_...If I ever get back to a chapel, I'm throwing dead slaughterfish through the windows._

Suddenly, Antoinetta went still and wide-eyed. I turned to see – Vicente, The Speaker, and Ocheeva, none of them looking particularly pleased.

"Out. Both of you."

She bowed her head low and, with a quiet acknowledgement, scurried out. I stalled a moment longer, but the cold look from Lucien was enough to send me out on her tail. She stopped just down the hall, biting her lower lip at my raised brow.

"What was that about?" I worried that I already knew.

"Not my business. You learn quick when to get out of the way down here. I'm going to have a bath." A toss of her hair.

Not her business, perhaps. But it was mine. I nodded slowly, giving her a little nod and encouragement on her way. "I'll – I'll go to the laboratory."

"Perfect. Make a big batch, I'm sure I'll use it!" A little wave and she was off. Only when she was out of sight did I inhale deep and try to mimic those near-silent steps she had, moving slowly up against the stone wall to just outside the entrance to the kitchens.

"…been decades, and we are to welcome her back with open arms?" Lucien speaking, sounding disdainful. "She near abandoned her duties in High Rock. And for her to come now, when rumours of a traitor abound…"

_A traitor?_

"With the blessing of Jehenna's Speaker, Lucien, in the interest of raising her family. Not such a terrible goal." I felt my chest hitch at Vicente's words, tempered as always. "And from what she wrote, she did care for contracts from time to time there, when commanded, training her elder daughter."

Even then. I bit my tongue hard, hands balling into fists. Even then, with Anya.

"And yet _she_ went to have whelps of her own. We were to receive an assassin from her, not an alchemist. She has shown us little loyalty these past years."

"This Sanctuary, perhaps, but not the Brotherhood. Her loyalty to Sithis has never wavered. I have no doubt of that." A hint of amusement in the vampire's voice. "You never quite forgave her, for leaving us."

"For a fool healer spreading the word of the Nine. An _outsider_." Venom in the Speaker's voice, enough to startle me. He was – _bitter_. "And you were never quite able to forget her, were you, Vicente?"

A long silence between them as I listened. Forget her? Did he…

It explained a bit. Why he was so kind to me. Why he was the most welcoming to her, why it was him she'd stayed in contact with even when she left for High Rock with papa. My stomach flopped. I pushed my fist down to steady it, trying to keep my breath steady, low as they spoke again.

"Executioner, honoured Speaker." It was Ocheeva who broke the pause, voice deferential. "I would, if I may be so bold, say we have our orders regardless of our personal feelings towards Madame Abelle. The Listener shall surely give us the Night Mother's guidance in this matter when he arrives. Until then, we need only host her and wait."

So much to absorb. A traitor in the Brotherhood? Who was the Listener? And if Vicente had – affections for my mother, once, did that mean –

A cleared throat behind me.

I had to clap my hands over my mouth to muffle a squeak, turning wide-eyed to meet the Bosmer woman. An unamused glare. She gave only a jerk of her chin down the hall to dismiss me before entering the room in long strides. My heart thudded in my chest as I began to walk away, only to freeze stalk still.

"Brother and Sister, Speaker, forgive my interruption. Madame Abelle has arrived."

_She's here. She's _here.

"Shall I escort her here?"

"No. We will meet her in the common room." Lucien, curt and cold. Footsteps. I stayed in place, hugging myself tight as they left one by one in a trail, the Speaker lingering to glance over his shoulder at me. A cold, cold smile.

"_Rude_ to eavesdrop, pet. Are you coming?"

I walked like I was being lead to execution. Perhaps I was. Was it all a lie, over the years? Every kindness, every act of love she'd shown me – was it all about to be undone?

_Let it be someone else._ Some desperate part of me clung to hope even as I felt numbness trickle through me, fear welling sickly in my chest. _Let this be a mistake. All of this. I don't care if I die, just let this be…_

They parted for me, after we entered the common room. Let me walk first towards the woman who was suddenly a stranger and yet so very, very familiar, so unchanged.

Her hair spun tight in a bun, ink black, now traced through with grey and silver. Dressed elegantly, head held high even as a hand rose to her lips. The hands that rocked me to sleep and choked the life out of innocents, the hands that stroked my hair and killed my father. Something clambered up my throat, a single word bitter-sweet and ragged sharp tumbling from my lips.

_"Mum."_

"My Dust." She gave a watery smile – _gods_, I'd missed her smile and gods, it hurt to see it now, stung deep and caustic. I stared hard at her, this woman I'd trusted, I'd loved, as she smoothed her skirt down and approached. Slowly, gently as though toward a frightened animal, or a coiled snake. Bitter bile rose in my throat as she met my gaze.

"I came as quickly as I could. I am so sorry for making you wait, chérie, for – for tangling you in all of this. It was never my intent."

When she stepped forward, I stepped back. A flicker of pain on her features.

"Dust - "

_"Why." _Cold and tempered like steel, the simplest thing I could say, the simplest thing I could ask without breaking into tears.

"I..." She trailed away, pursing her lips tight. "I can explain, sweet."

"_Why_," I persisted, holding the word on my tongue and narrowing my eyes, unmoved as she winced. "He loved you, and you killed him. Why? _No._" I clutched my brow, shaking my head and backing away, my voice breaking. "I don't want to know, do I? How many have you killed? Papa, Falrung. Sirius, too? How many others, _Abelle? _"

"Dust, please, let me – "

I ran from her then. Ran like I had from the manor, from the truth about Bolor, like I'd tried to run from the truth that had surrounded me here. I heard her call my name but didn't slow. The halls echoed eerily with my footfalls, my shadow stretched and fleeing beside me on the wall. I ran as far as I could from her, until I reached the other end of the Sanctuary where Vicente's room lay, slamming the door behind me and collapsing on it with a strangled curse. I gave a shuddering sigh, hating myself for crying, pressing my brow against the cool mahogany of the door for little comfort.

No more running. No more hiding from it. It was _real._ She was here.

A knock on the door, the movement of it startled me away. I stood shaking, arms crossed protectively over my chest as Vicente entered, giving a sigh on seeing me.

"Dust."

"I – I'm sorry. I just – I just had to get away." I squeezed myself tight, voice a croak. I could find somewhere else to hide. Somewhere I wouldn't have to face this truth, so burning-painful-bright that I wasn't sure I could see it without being blinded. "I'll go."

Infuriatingly, unfailingly mild. "You are angry with her."

"Of course I'm fucking _angry _with her!" My own snarl surprised me, the raw coarseness to my voice as I then collapsed into a sob. "She killed my father, the man who taught me magick, a boy too young to _shave._ She betrayed me. All my life, she _lied_."

"Mn." Just a little sound of affirmation. He gestured to his desk. "Sit down, Dust."

Still flaring with anger I scoffed. "Why should I take orders from you?"

His gaze hardened, voice gaining a subtle, honed edge. _"Sit."_

I sat. He sidled in to rummage through his desk, pulling out an old box, shuffling papers before raising a yellowed envelope. The wax seal was long since broken, the edges bent and wrinkled. Hesitantly I took it from his grasp, shivering as I caught the mingled smell of age and mint.

"Read it."

With the touch of a scholar used to handling ancient texts I smoothed the letter out. Her voice echoed in my head clear and true as I began, holding my breath.

_Dearest Vicente,_

_The deed is done. My husband lies dead, and I am to marry Marquis Toltette within the month. I write to you now from my new home in his manor, where the girls and I will begin anew._

_I did what I had to. I know this, even as I blame myself. I should have foreseen the depth of Toltette's feelings for me, known the habits of nobles well enough from my work. Known he would think he was defending me, saving me. But I didn't. Not until I received the contract, and the order._

_I wonder still if it was all a terrible coincidence, or some orchestration. Perhaps a test from our dearest Mother, in my crime of loving an outsider. And I did love him still, even as hurt as I was for his betrayal. Jacques wanted only to help the needy, the unfortunate, but he sacrificed us – our health and wealth – to do it, and learning he loved Falrung over me…_

_I gave up everything for him, Vicente, as you well know. I followed him to High Rock, gave him his daughters, and he drove me into the arms of a stranger out of loneliness and anger. I should have hated him. I could not, even as I poisoned him that night._

_It is done, and I do not regret obeying the order. I am and always will be loyal to our Mother, our Dread Father. Our Family. I only hope I have done the right thing for my own._

_Anya will heal, I know. She's so strong, and she understands death – has always understood, a part of me thinks. She grieves for her father but understands he will not return, and her little lessons have been going well even for one so young. She moves with the grace of a moonlit shadow, already well knows the tale and history of our kind. Someday, she will make our Mother proud._

_But little Gabby – Vicente, I cannot feign to think she will follow in her sister's footsteps or my own. Not now._

_She thinks it's her fault, that her father and Falrung are gone. He had her pour the mead every night they were together, and she believes she somehow did it wrong. It breaks my heart that she blames herself when it is me alone who should carry that burden. Even if it was necessary, even if it means a better life for her, I and I alone should carry that guilt._

_She is her father's daughter. She is utterly a creature of love and laughter, and I would not change this for the world. I found her playing in the kitchen with a mortar and pestle, and when I asked what she was doing she said she was going to get papa back, heal him like he healed others at the chapel. She's so stubborn, I wonder if she just might do it._

_I know these wounds will heal, in time. And as much as I regret the pain I have inflicted on my daughters, I hope as they grow they will embrace their lives here. As you have told me, patience is an assassin's greatest virtue - and perhaps that of a mother, too. Give my warmest regards to the family, even those who will not accept them._

_With all of my love,_

_Abelle_

I hadn't realized I was crying, not until my tears fell and stained the page. I wiped my face onto my sleeve, taking a deep, shaky breath as Vicente placed a gentle hand on my shoulder.

"She wanted to protect you. To give you a chance at a better life."

_I had a better life_, came the bitter thought, and yet – what Anya had said when we were children so long ago was true. What maman had written, true. I loved my father dearly, held him in my memories as pure and untouchable, but he didn't do what was best for us. He could have found work in a town, kept us comfortable, safe and healthy. He kept us in the village so he could help others, at the sacrifice of ourselves. He'd hurt us, turning to Falrung in secret. And maman…

I hated her. I loved her. She was the woman who murdered my father, and the woman who'd rubbed my back and sung me through the nightmares that followed. And as she stepped into the threshold of the room, eyes wet, I couldn't push her away.

I flew to her, buried my tears in the crook of her neck and cried like a child as she soothed me. "My Dusty. My little girl. I've missed you, so much."

I choked on a sob. "I missed you too, maman."

"I have made mistakes, my sweet. Terrible mistakes. It is a difficult thing, to be both a daughter of Sithis and a mother of a child. Forgive me."

What else could I do? I loved her, terribly and deeply and painfully. As angry and betrayed as I was, I couldn't hate her, could never hate her. "I need answers, maman. There's so much I don't understand."

"I know, chérie. I promised you I'd explain, and I will." She glanced over my shoulder, bright eyes crinkling as she laughed. "Ah, Vicente. My first time here in decades, and already I need to ask a favour. Please, put on some tea." Her gaze turned back to me, stroking cool fingers down my cheek. "I have much to discuss with my daughter."


	17. Chapter Seventeen

"The Dark Brotherhood found me when I was sixteen."

My tears had dried by now, pain eased somewhat, nerves soothed by the warmth of a cup of tea in my hands as I sipped. Mum stirred her mug, for which I was grateful. I didn't have to meet her gaze. "I grew up on the streets, my dear. Stealing and scraping by, orphaned and alone."

I went still, the mug settling on the table. Maman spoke rarely of her childhood to us. Only that she had lived in Cyrodiil until she met my father. "Why?"

An amused, but bitter smile. "I was told at the temple that raised me I was the daughter of a High Rock noble, sent to Cyrodiil to birth her bastard daughter and abandon me there out of the public eye. But that – that doesn't matter." A shake of her head. "It's all a blur in truth, up until that day. I killed a boy for stealing from me - not as self-defense, but as revenge, and threw his corpse in the Lake Rumare.

Lake Rumare. How many times did I dip my bare feet in its waters, under a gem-blue sky with a book on my lap?

"A Speaker came to me, shortly afterwards." She gave a small smile, and a shiver clambered down my spine as I saw Vicente return it.

"You?"

"Yes." Vicente folded his hands, gazing at me calmly. "Many years ago, before I retired as Speaker to serve here."

"You do well with fledglings, as you did with me. I think it was your calling all along." There was a warmth, a fondness in her eyes I hadn't seen in many years. A private woman, a quiet woman, suddenly forced to spill out all her secrets.

"After I finished my initiation, I came here. I found a home, a purpose. A family. Lucien was like a little brother to me." She laughed gently, sipping. "He arrived six, perhaps years after I, still a lanky, angry young man with so much raw talent and so little of it honed."

I closed my eyes for a moment, imagining it. Lucien a young man, perhaps as young as mum had been when they found her. It was difficult to picture him like that. I knew him only as smooth, insufferably confident. The idea that he was young and angry and lost once, like I had been at that age…

That these assassins, this Family of my mother's that was somehow not mine, were people. With a past, stories of their own. I bit my tongue and pushed the image away.

"In time the twins came to us, then Telaendril when Lucien recruited her, and so many more. Many brothers and Sisters, loved and lost over the years. It was a hard life, but I wouldn't have traded it for anything. Or so I had thought." She sighed, lashes cast downward. "I was well on my way through the ranks, perhaps even to become Speaker someday and we - we were family. It was better than I'd _ever_ imagined. Then, I met Jacques Dust. Your father."

Papa. After he left the Reach, wandering around the borders of the provinces, a travelling healer who went where he was needed – all I'd pieced together from the tattered remnants of stories he told, what little I could remember before his death.

"He was… so very different from me. So very different from everything I knew, everything I believed. Living in the shadows, I suppose I wanted a taste of the light. Even then, I had no intention of leaving – but then I fell pregnant, with Anya.

For the first time, I had another family, one purely my own. I knew Jacques would go to High Rock with or without me then, following his work, his passion. I loved him, and I couldn't bear then the thought of Anya living without a father. I made contact with the Sanctuary in Jehenna, and was allowed to serve there – leaving my Family here behind. Some felt I was fleeing my duty." Another gentle smile to Vicente. "Others supported me."

"You were not the first to have a family beyond our own, Abelle. I would not have robbed you of that."

"We left. I had never intended for us to stay in that – that disease-ridden hole." I'd never heard mum speak well of the place I was born. My own memories were faint – some good, Falrung and papa, but others were harsher. An aching stomach, lice picked from my hair, hearing cries and moans all around us as we would wait out a passing plague. "But Anya was born, and I could manage little else but her care. I was a new mother – I stumbled through, as best I could, while Jacques became more and more entrenched in the belief that he had to _save _that place. He threw our every coin into his work."

Papa, papa, _papa_. Every memory of him, golden and smiling and loving, gods, and he had been, I knew, but he'd hurt us too, even if he never meant to. The more I heard the more I realized that they – papa and maman both – were more complex than I ever could have known. More than mother, more than father. More than simply mine. My grip on the now cold mug was white-knuckled.

"I stayed because of Anya. Perhaps because a part of me thought I could change him." A smile, crinkling at the corners of her mouth. "Then I had you. I did love him, Dust. Truly."

A cold flicker in my chest and I let it peek through, a glimpse in my icy voice. "So did I."

I regretted it almost immediately. Maman was never an emotional speaker – everything was said through subtle little movements. The slight draw of her brow, the quiet inhale. I swallowed hard. "… When did you learn about – about him and Falrung?"

"You were – four, perhaps. I had suspected before, but only found out for certain then. I didn't tell him I knew." Her jaw was set hard, elegantly folded hands tensing without her seeming to realize it. "But I did begin looking for a way out for us. I found it in Davide."

"Toltette." The one who placed the contract in the first place. And yet, I couldn't feel anger. Just a stark emptiness inside, thudding away.

"One of his horses in the market went wild while Anya and I were there, nearly trampled us. He was quite the gentleman in his apology, and I could tell quickly he was – taken with me, though he never knew my true nature." Maman was very beautiful, after all. Her fine features, her ink-black hair, the way she carried herself. "In him I found – something more of a kindred spirit. After a few months I was building up the courage to leave Jacques, and then…"

"And then he placed the contract." My voice cracked. I had to push the mug in my hands away, afraid if I kept squeezing it would shatter in my hands. "You were selected to carry it out. So you did."

"Yes." No hesitation. Guilt, but no shame. "I had no choice. I served Sithis, will always serve Sithis, until the day I die and I am returned to his void. And if I had refused, I would have been killed. Perhaps you with me. I thought it wouldn't matter, thought I wouldn't care. Jacques had hurt me, and I knew Davide could care for us. Could give you girls the life you deserved, in comfort. But in truth, it – it was harder than I had ever imagined."

"And Sirius. He got too close to the truth, didn't he?" I was blinking back tears now, suddenly exhausted. "So you killed him, too."

"I never meant to hurt you, my dear." I tried not to flinch when she stood from the table, circling around to come to my side and place a hand over mine. "I want only for you to be safe and happy."

"I know."

She placed a hand on my head and held me to her chest for a long few moments. No tears now – I felt wrung out of them, drained dry.

I had my answers. Finally, the swirling inside my head had come to a cold, numb stillness. As her nails grazed a tingling trail through my curls I found one last question. "Maman."

"Yes, chérie?"

"What now?"

"Now…" A long sigh above my head where she rested her chin. "We will – sort out the complications of all of this. I will – I will speak to the Listener personally, and plead your case.

My case, and – Listener? I'd heard that word, hadn't I?

"You will not need to wait long, Abelle. He will be arriving here, soon enough."

I couldn't remember the last time I'd seen mum startled. She straightened, brow furrowed, dark eyes narrowed. "A gathering of the Black Hand, over – over this? I wouldn't have thought…"

Vicente shook his head. "No. I'm afraid the reason for the gathering is more dire and, perhaps, best not discussed in mixed company."

Me. I felt my face flush, pushed myself away from the table and stood. Mum stepped back to make room, giving me a fond little smile that I knew meant she was worried about me.

"Soon, my dear, we'll have this sorted. I know you must be – tired. Eager to get back to your life, to your Bolor."

She didn't know. Of course – I'd never finished the letter I'd been writing, certainly never had the opportunity to send it. I laughed harshly. "Bolor is the whole reason I'm _here_, mum. He – I found out he was a necromancer, the University wanted me to spy and, he, he must have sent…" I faltered. _Not even a proper contract_, _a favour for a friend._ That phrase stuck with me. Did Bolor have a friend in the Brotherhood, all this time? Did he know then that I was alive?

She caught my hands again, squeezing them tight. "Then perhaps, as awful as this all must be for you – perhaps there's for a reason for it. You're safe here, darling, I promise you that." She moved to lay a kiss on my brow. I didn't pull away. "Why don't you go take a nice, hot bath, hm? You could use the chance to relax."

Relax. _Here._ Almost funny to consider and yet the idea was tempting, not just to soothe myself but to feel clean. I felt – not _dirty,_ not exactly, but used and tired and too full of mixed emotions to think clearly. "That – that would be nice."

"I'll come check on you soon, chérie. Go on." At last she let my hands go, gave me a gentle smile before turning her gaze back on Vicente. I caught a snatch of conversation on my way out, wishing I hadn't.

"For a reason, indeed. Your return now may be fortuitous for us all, Abelle."

Already my mind was scrambling to think of possibilities, but – no. I slapped a lid on them, trying to force my mind to clear. I'd find out soon enough, whether I wanted to or not. For now…

A bath.

I could manage that.

Soon enough there was steam billowing around the bathing room, the effort of lugging in wellwater and setting the fire to heat stones finally about to pay off. At least the task had kept me occupied until now, when I stripped off and, hissing at the heat, stepped into the tub.

_Ohh, that's better._ A moment to adjust and it was heavenly, leaving me tilting my head back, eyes drifting shut. Only now as the hot water worked did on my muscles did I realize how tensed they'd been. How weeks of doing nothing but thinking and fearing and questioning had left me so drained.

_What now?_

_Don't._ I spoke aloud to myself, partially from habit, partially to push my worries away as I frowned. "Right now, this very moment, I am taking a _bath_. And that's all I'm going to think of."

_When can I go home? What do they want with maman here?_

"Dammit." I tried to sink in further, letting one of my legs hook on the wooden rim so I could sink in up to my chin. It _did _feel good, soothing and yet…

_Can I really forgive her? Can we really move past this? Even if it wasn't out of hate, even if there was no other choice…_

I splashed at the water, muttering another curse. "Relax. Out of anything she could have asked me to do…" I had to laugh. Helplessly, shaking my head as I dipped my curls back so they came up slicked to my brow. "I can't even manage _that._"

"Do you make a habit of talking to yourself, pet?"

A flurry of movement from me, more splashing. I didn't so much scream as _squeak_, covering myself even with much of me under the water, giving him the most vicious glare I could muster. "Get _out_! You slimy – "

"Now, now. Simply came to talk." Black gloved fingers intertwined, that crooked smirk returning as I sunk in deep as I could. . "Not that I expected to interrupt a conversation."

I shrunk, suspicion crawling in tendrils around the corners of my mind. "...About what?"

"Your living arrangements. Abelle is adamant about your safety, of course."

"Well…" I avoided his gaze even as I felt it on my bare shoulders. The bathwater was still warm, but I had to suppress a shiver. "You'll be rid of me soon enough, won't you? Mum will speak to the – the Listener, and then – "

"You don't even know what that means."

I shot him a glare, regretting it immediately as that smile made me flush red. "I know it means I'll be done with you, _all _of you, soon."

"Unlikely. Your mother may trust you, but she does not speak for the Black Hand." Another word I'd heard before, another I didn't understand. "It is we who will undoubtedly decide your fate, and considering how much you've seen…"

In the warmth of the tub, a chill prickled through me. What if they wouldn't listen to her? I wasn't safe yet. Even now, my life hung in the balance. "What do you _want_?"

"Careful, pet. I'm doing you a_ favour_. If you will earn your keep, I could be persuaded to take Abelle's side when she pleads your case. If you make yourself of use to me."

I scoffed, keeping my arms tightly crossed over my body in the safety of the water. Pity I couldn't sink in and _drown_, save me from the mortification of being naked in front of this bastard. What did he mean, earn my keep? Of use –

His eyes suddenly felt not piercing, but _probing_, a tug at the corner of his lips as he eyed me with a quiet chuckle. The hairs on my neck rose. _He doesn't mean_ –

"I would, if the Listener allows it, take you on as our permanent alchemist. I must admit, your potions have been – useful, these past few weeks. Your talent may be enough to save your life."

_Oh._ Relief rushed in, my cheeks prickling and red hot as I stammered. "I – yes. Potions. I can do potions. Of course." _Idiot. What did you think he meant?_

"Of _course,_" He repeated as I seethed at his smirk, the liquid velvet of his voice. "_Relax_, pet. If I wanted you in my bed, you would be there already."

A twist of his robes and he was gone, leaving me flushed, tingling and cursing. Slimy Imperial snake. I sank back into the water with a groan, submerging up to my ears so I could hear only the soft beat of my heart under the surface.

_Relax._

The last bloody thing on my mind.


	18. Chapter Eighteen

"Things are not what they used to be, Abelle."

Hushed voices woke me, stirring my mind from the deep, warm darkness of slumber into rousing. I opened my bleary eyes to see the shadows cast on the far wall, flickering silhouettes – maman, sitting up at the table, and a hooded man at her side. Lucien, his voice taut.

"I can see that." Mum spoke softly, so not to wake me. We roomed together now, separate from the sleeping quarters of the others. Exhausted I'd turned in early after my bath, but I could see in the blueish shadows that her bed was still untouched. "Time was a man would lower his hood, speaking to a lady."

Lucien snorted, but I heard the rustle of cloth, saw him shift. He'd removed his hood. "_You _haven't changed, Abelle, but much has here. Rumours of treachery fly unchecked through the Sanctuaries, Brothers and Sisters disappearing. First only a young slayer in Anvil, then Speaker Blanchard. Next Speaker Ulvani, and his silencer. All vanished, without a trace."

"The Black Hand is maimed, then." I'd never heard maman's voice like that. So cold, so sharp in contrast to how I knew her, like the very edge of a blade against a warm throat. "Do the rumours hold truth? Is it one of us?"

"I fail to see how it could be anyone else. Every single member of the Brotherhood is suspect." There was a humourless smirk in the lilt of his voice, the scorn. "Except, of course, _you _– with your recent arrival, knowing you were in High Rock before the disappearances began…"

"I am above suspicion." Mum finished. I heard a gentle thump, her tea hitting the table. "Vicente told me as much. He suspects, given that and my history, I will be asked to become Speaker in Ulvani's place, to stay on in Cyrodiil permanently."

"And will you?"

I wanted to shut my ears. Close my eyes, go back to the ignorance of sleep, but I could only listen.

"There is little enough left for me in High Rock. Anya is happy and settled with her family, her work for us there, and Davide…" A low, mirthless chuckle. "I told him what I am, now. I know he would never dare act against me, not having placed the contract himself, but I doubt he can look at me again with the same eyes."

Though I couldn't see their features in the dark, I could feel Lucien's gaze turn on me. "And _her_?"

"... All I can do is hope she will forgive me. That she can build a new life here."

I lay stalk still, breath held, eyes closed.

"_Here?"_ A sneer in his tone. "You want me to take this innocent little alchemist and turn her into a murderer?"

"No. Not like that." Relief flooded in, but apprehension reigned. "Not unless she chooses that path as I did. But if she can serve the Brotherhood as Anya does, not as a killer but as a tool – perhaps I can earn her some mercy. You did as I asked?"

"I told her, though she seemed a tad distracted." It was _maman's_ idea, to have me work for them? For Lucien to take her side?

Amused disapproval. "_I _would have been, too, had you snuck in on me while I bathed."

His tone was as mannerly as his words weren't. "You wish, crone."

The laughter between them – it made me want to curl in on myself, disbelieving. They really had known each other, long ago. They'd been friends, allies.

Family.

The Black Hand, Sithis, the Night Mother – so many words I didn't understand, crashing and colliding hard enough to make my head throb. And mum, tangled with it all. She'd told me her story but still, I couldn't understand. Why had she chosen this life?

Why did she choose her Family, over her family?

Their laughter fell, a scrape of wood against the stone floor. Mum stood.

"You aren't returning to bed?"

"Telaendril and Ocheeva wanted to meet me for a late night drink." She chuckled. "She was so young, last I saw her. I must admit, you trained the twins well."

A nod in acknowledgement, from his shadow. He only stood when she left and, as I flinched, turned towards me until his shadow spilled over the bed.

"_Again_, pet, eavesdropping. A dangerous habit to keep, in a place like this."

No point in pretending, though I wondered how he knew. I threw down the sheets with a grumble in my throat, swinging my legs off the bed to sit up. "I wouldn't have to if someone would just – _explain _things to me. Tell me what's going to happen next."

"Your mother spoke to you, did she not?"

I inhaled deep through my nares, looking past him to the doors. "… She explained what she could. But I don't know anything about – about _this._ _You_, your Family. You said it yourself, that I didn't know what Listener meant."

The shadows cast stark against his features, lax in consideration as he paused. "And you wish to?"

"Yes. Anything that would – help. Make _sense_ of this."

"Then I will elucidate." My heart jumped in my throat, then sank. "But not tonight."

"Oh for Talos' _sake_," I spat, moving to stand. It was becoming easier to be bold with him but as he looked down, entertained, I remembered how easily he'd taken me here in the first place. My tone softened. "Why _not?_"

"You aren't ready."

A growl of frustration under my breath. "What would _make _me ready?"

"An act you're simply too - too _naive_ to perform." he drawled, tilting his head and looking over me - standing there glaring up, fists clenched - with a smirk. "But perhaps the time will come, as it did for your mother, your sister."

He turned, only stilling again as I spoke on impulse, barely a thought. "I could hire you."

A chuckle as he looked over his shoulder. "This again, pet?"

"That's what you mean, isn't it? Murder." I challenged him as he turned around to face me again. "And if I did, if I..."

"If you did, you would simply be making a contract, asking for death's hand to fall. There is a distinction." His eyes, dark like maman's, glinted in the candlelight. "And is there anyone you so despise, truly? So much so that you would wish not only their death, but that their soul is sent screaming into the Void of our Dread Father?"

Father. I thought of Toltette. The gold he paid to have my family torn apart. I thought of papa, slumped over, of Falrung's cold chest against me. I thought of my stepfather, cowering, begging for his life.

There should have been _something_, some grim satisfaction at the thought of him paying for what he had done, but...

"I thought not." His satisfaction would have made me bristle if I wasn't so focused on my own thoughts. He was right. Vicente and my mother, too. The thought made me nauseous, sick with guilt, with the _wrongness_ of it. It simply wasn't in my nature.

But could that change, if it needed to? If I wanted it to?

A crash against the door startled us both, it swinging open with a screech as Teinaava leaned into it panting and wide-eyed.

"Speaker, come quickly, I beg of you." His eyes narrowed at me. "And you - fetch those healing potions you made. To the dormitory, _now_."

A glance at Lucien, seeing the disturbance in his eyes was enough to send me on my way. I flew down the hall as they moved in the other direction, catching a snatch of their words.

"What has happened?"

"It's Gogron, Speaker. He was attacked -"

It was all I heard. To the laboratory, gathering some of the salves and potions I'd made these past weeks. Dammit, _how_ was he attacked? Different wounds would need different potions, but there was no time. These would do. Off again, following their footsteps and the din of conversation into the dormitory.

They were circled around his massive form on the bed. My stomach lurched at the sight of blood-streaked armour, stripped and cast aside.

"Gogron,"Antoinetta fretting, hands over her mouth, "Gogron, _oh_, Telaendril is going to be so _upset _\- "

"Enough, Slayer. Panicking won't help him." Relief to see Vicente already tending to the Orc, pressing a reddened cloth against his side. Behind him M'raaj-Dar, the Khajiit handing him fresh linens, and to the side Teinaava and the Speaker.

I raced over, breathless. "What happened? Tell me what you need me to do."

Vicente met my gaze, his own grim and dark like dried blood as fresh streaked his hands. Again my stomach churned but lessons, practice from learning healing at the university took over as I closed in.

"He stumbled in minutes ago, saying something about Fort Farragut, and collapsed. The damage is extensive. Dust, I manage minor injuries here but I am not a healer. If you could look..."

I needed no further prompting. Gently, holding my breath, I moved away the linen and winced. Difficult to see under the dark mess of blood, but I could count - four, no, five punctures, from just under his arm down in almost a line where the unprotected seam of his armour must have sat, open and vulnerable. I began cataloguing in my head. _The bowels were perforated, without doubt. Perhaps the liver, too..._

"Vicente." I tried to keep my voice from trembling. This close the smells – the hot iron tang of blood, the scent of waste from punctured bowels, everything seemed to hang in a fog. "The greenish salve in the jar there, on the bandages, can you – "

A nod and he wordlessly began to work as the Khajiit handed me more rags, a pitcher of water to wipe the wound site clean again. The blood came in a heavy, but slow trickle, not spurts. How much had he already lost? The smell, the amount of punctures, gods - another two as I cleared away the red…

He wouldn't live. It was a miracle he'd made it this far.

Lucien above me, hissing. "Well?"

My hands shook. I tried to find the words, tried to offer some comfort, but even as I smoothed on the bandages I knew it was in vain. I shook my head.

Antoinetta whimpered. Teinaava inhaled sharply, M'raaj-Dar covering his face with a hand. Vicente sighed deeply, the sound of someone who had lost too many like this before. And from Lucien, a low growl.

"I – I can make him comfortable. And I can try my best – there's a chance, however slim…"

"We need him conscious. To tell us what happened, and with _whom_." Cold and smooth as new ice, the Speaker's voice. "If he was attacked near Farragut, if he saw anything…"

He didn't need to finish. The traitor. If Gogron had seen anything, we needed to know. But…

"He's – he's lost a lot of blood, he's probably already septic. If he stays unconscious like this, if I can keep working on him then there's a _chance_ I can save him. At the very least, he can die without pain. But if I put my focus on waking him, I… I can't… he won't…"

That chance, however slim, would be ripped away. As it was, all my magick was channeling through one hand while with the other I smoothed on the bandages, praying the numbing effect of the poultice might offer some relief. Even unconscious his brow was furrowed in pain, breath coming out in ragged shudders.

"But you_ can_ do it."

"I – I can force blood to his brain with one of my potions and a spell, redistribute it temporarily to force him awake but, _Lucien_ – "

"If he dies before he can speak, we lose all chance of discovering who attacked him." His voice was steady even as a shiver, cold as winter mist, settled over the room. All of them, his family, his subordinates, waiting for his command. Tensing for it, knowing what was coming.

"Wake him."

_But I'm not one of them._ I glared up, jaw set. "And if I refuse? If I keep going, there's a chance. I don't obey _you_, Lucien, and it is my duty as a healer to do _whatever _it takes to – "

"Your duty now is to the Brotherhood." Icewater down my back, his command. "If the traitor is involved, is allowed to escape, we are _all_ in danger – including your mother."

Maman. She was still gone, with Ocheeva and Telaendril. Fort Farragut wasn't far. What if…?

I turned. With one hand I supported his head, limp and heavy against my palm. In the other I took a potion, a little vial tilted against his lips, and poured. Some trickled out, but most, mercifully, slipped down as he swallowed. Vicente took it away, freeing my hands to rest on his chest, feeling the feather-light beat of his heart beneath.

To say restoration is a benevolent art would be false. The teaching of it, the way it is usually used, is for good. For healing. But ultimately it is nothing but manipulation of the body, biological workings taken over with concentration and magicka, changed at will. I was still only learning to heal, my skill crude. It would hurt.

I inhaled deep, grit my teeth, and let my magicka go.

It took only a few minutes. My brow screwed in effort as I ran my hands up his chest, quickly down again then slowly tracing up, guiding blood and energy towards his upper half. The oozing wounds slowed, stopped entirely. His breathing became more rapid, more shallow.

Antoinetta, uncharacteristically meek. "… Is he…?"

The wet inhale, the lurch sent us all jerking back. He coughed wetly, almost retching, a sheen of sweat coating his colour-drained face as he stared around with wide, unseeing eyes.

"Gogron! It's alright." Vicente was the first to stand again, a hand on the Orc's back and chest as he hacked and violently shook. "We are here. What happened, Gogron? Who attacked you by Fort Farragut?"

"Was, was, puh-passing by, the Fort c-coming back from Arrius…" I held my magicka on him as he spoke, the thudding in my head as it drained becoming a throb. "Didn't – _fast,_ Sithis, I didn't see 'em, left me for dead, _why_…" An agonized sound, almost a roar from the massive Orc as he curled over and tried to clutch at his gut. Swirling black robes as Lucien rounded me to come in close, staring Gogron down.

"Who, Gogron? Did you see their face?"

The Orc looked up, pale, jaw sinking open as his eyes fluttered. He was holding on only by nature of my spell. A long look at Lucien, his face contorting.

"Speaker… _why_?"

His eyes rolled back in his head, and he slumped back against the bed, still. Empty. The blood drained from my face.

"… _You?_ You did this?"

"No. You well know I have been here speaking with you." No anger in his voice, nor grief. Only a cool grey flatness, thick and shrouding like a fog.

"He must have taken _ages_ to crawl here. Time enough for you to attack him and come back – "

"I will _no__t_." I caught a glimpse of it then, of the rage contained in that steely voice. "Be questioned in my own Sanctuary by an _outsider_. In the dark, it would have been easy to mistake an attacker, and being near my home…"

"There is no use in throwing accusations." Vicente's eyes settled on me, warning me gently. Behind him the others – family to this man, their Brother – held their breath, watched in silence. Expectant, almost.

Lucien stepped forward, making me move aside, placing a gloved black hand over the still-cooling body. I hugged myself tight as I watched, stepping back, almost wanting to leave. This was something – intimate. Something I wasn't meant to witness.

"Gogron, for his faults in stealth and subtlety, was a loyal Brother and a valued child of our Night Mother. Sithis grant him easy passage and peace in the endless depths of the void."

Nods all around. Antoinetta stifled a sob. The laughter, high and delighted and affectionate, felt like a blow to the gut in comparison.

"I never would have believed that – " The doors to the sleeping quarters swung open, and all three women stopped in their tracks. Maman's jaw fell, covered delicately by her hand, the Bosmer freezing wide-eyed. Ocheeva stepped forward, voice taut.

"What in Sithis' name _happened_?"

"Gogron?" Telaendril's whisper rippled through the room, trembling. From a woman so cold, so sleek, a whimper. "Is he…?"

Our silence spoke volumes. Her breath hitched. She raced over to his side, small hands atop him, whispering in a ragged, wretched voice over and over. Ocheeva stood there in disbelief as mum shook her head.

Vicente was next to move, standing. A gentle hand moved over the Bosmer's shoulder before his gaze turned to all of us. "Come, all of you."

In clusters and alone we drifted out, Family comforting Family. The lower ranked members vanished down the hall, whispering, as the others gathered outside the now closed door. Lucien, exhaling hard. "I am going to Farragut. If it was indeed the traitor who attacked him, they may still linger."

"I'll go, too. We can't take any chances, if they've killed as many as we fear." Mum. I stiffened, staring at her.

"Maman – "

"Just wait here, darling. I don't want you with me, not with the risk. I'll be back soon." A flash of a smile and she was gone, trailing after Lucien and leaving me with a tight lump in my throat.

"I will go and keep an eye on the others." Ocheeva, somehow both businesslike and motherly. "Vicente, if you could tend to Telaendril, and our Brother's body…"

"Of course." He turned to me as she walked away, just a nod of his head. "… You did well, Dust. You should go and wash yourself, then retire. I understand how much energy healing can take." He slipped through the doors to the dormitory. I caught for a moment Telaendril's quiet sobs, then as the door thudded shut I was alone.

_Maman doesn't know._

Perhaps Lucien told the truth. It was true that he could have been mistaken in the dark, true that Gogron might assume with rumours of traitors and being so close to the fort that it was him. Perhaps.

_Perhaps isn't good enough._

I didn't go wash. The poor Orc's blood was still drying on my hands as I made instead for the well, moving quick. I couldn't let them get too far.

_You're a prisoner. If you try to leave, what will they do with you?_

_I don't care. If there's risk, any risk at all for mum, I'm going._

I had failed to prevent one death, tonight. I wouldn't make that mistake again.


	19. Chapter Nineteen

For once, the opportunity presented itself. There was no one keeping an eye on me, no one to notice as I crept away to the well exit and hauled myself up the ladder. The hatch was locked – I cursed my luck, hoping they'd have left it open in their hurry. But it wasn't all lost.

Alone, I could take the time to concentrate. To let what little magicka I had left flow again without catching attention, surrounding the lock, finding the nooks and crannies. Every minute that passed was infuriating - I had to force myself not to panic, to slow down and concentrate on the sounds. Clicking, clockwork tap-tap-tapping…

_There!_

A moment of triumph, flickering out like a snuffed candle as I caught sight of my blood-streaked hands again and shuddered. For the first time in weeks, I pushed up and into the open air, into night.

Rain. I sputtered as I clambered out, staring up at the thick, black sky, then around me. A shiver passed through, not just from the cold. _I was right._ The well was hidden in a backyard behind a house, white-washed with dark timber beams. A high wall behind me, covered with clambering ivy, wrought iron fencing all around. As I crept out, careful to try and move silently, I could see in torchlight the cobblestone road and a single guard making his way down past other tall homes, the shadows of spires and towers behind.

A city. Tingling spread through me. It had been so long since I'd seen – well, _anything._ Anything that wasn't smoke-blackened walls, breathed anything but stale air. Still, there wasn't time to stop and admire. I kept to the yards behind the houses, praying I wouldn't run into anyone like this. What would I say? At least in the pouring rain my hands were washed clean.

But I was no padfoot, especially not now with my boots soaked and squelching with every step – and the gateway out of the city was guarded. _Dammit all._

A flicker of thought. I was _free_. It seemed so surreal after everything as to be absurd, but it was true. I was outside. There were people here, not like below but like _me,_ everyday citizens, armoured guards. I could run to them. Tell them – _everything_. How I'd been kidnapped, taken in by murderers, how all I wanted was to go _home_. They'd protect me, wouldn't they? That was their duty, their work. Protect me from…

From people like my mother. The thought vanished, a puff of smoke.

Instead I steeled myself and approached, half-hoping they'd simply ignore me, but no such luck. One of them straightened, torch held higher at my approach. "Halt!"

I stopped. The other, a Dunmer woman, furrowed her brow as she examined me. "Vehk's sake, you're soaked, girl. What are you doing out here at this time of night?"

_Alright. I can do this. I can do this._ I scrunched up my face and let my voice peter into a whine, hands – again, I mentally thanked the rain – fretting in front of me. "My – my cat! I just opened the door for a moment and off he went, and it's so _late_, and he must be so cold and so _scared_ – " A few fake sniffles, for good measure.

A sigh between them. She seemed to resist the urge to roll her eyes, but he didn't. "And you want to go look in the pouring rain. _Fine. _But stick close to the walls – you'll have to wait until morning if you want to check the woods. Gods only know what's roaming around there this time of night."

_Murderers, I can tell you that much_, but I bit my tongue and with overeager thanks I scurried through, keeping up the act and staying close to the city wall until I was well out of sight. Then, boots sliding slick up the muddy hill, I made my way to the silhouetted fort in the distance.

Dread welled hot and heavy in my stomach like I'd swallowed lead. My chest hurt, making me pant as I ascended, head splitting with the emptiness of my magicka and with fear for my mother.

_It's been too long already. What if they're already inside? What if he _is _the traitor, and he's already…_

_Don't think like that._ I swallowed tight and picked up speed as the hill leveled, making way for the outer circle of ancient, fallen stone. _Just hurry._

The fort towered over me now as I stepped into the courtyard, ominous in the dark. A circular wall, crumbling into piles of rubble at the foot of it, surrounded the fort itself. Ceilings of stone that seemed to be barely supported by ancient pillars stood overhead. Rain pitter-pattered on stone in an almost comforting rhythm.

And in the mud – tracks. Already beginning to wash and slide away, filled with brown rainwater, but fresh. Some large, some smaller but neither, oddly, going to the foreboding entrance of the fort. Instead they seemed to circle around the dirt-turned-muck path, leading me to the dotting trees that heralded the beginning of the woods.

Another entrance. The Sanctuary had one – it stood to reason Lucien would, too. I followed the tracks, wrinkling my nose as they seemed to wind tight to a massive tree and around. _What_ _on Nirn…?_

A hand on my collar. A growl in my ear. Magick, seeping into my skin. And me weaponless, the dagger I'd held now returned to its rightful owner_. I'm dead. I'm dead._ My limbs stiffened and I teetered away from the tree, sinking into the grass and mud with a wet thump.

"You little _idiot._"

_Lucien._ Relief that it wasn't a stranger, then fear flooded in even as mud soaked into my hair, the back of my robe. He bent down to pick me up again by the collar and haul me to my feet_. It could be him, it has to be, he killed the Orc oh, gods, _mum_, where's mum –_

"Lucien? What's going on up there?"

_Oh, thank all gods._ I would have slumped in relief if I'd been able, instead hanging there in his grip as I took in what I saw. The tree itself was completely hollowed out from this side – beneath I could hear the swing of a ladder, mum grunting as she pulled herself up. _She's safe. She's safe –_

_She's livid._ A familiar trickling sensation from childhood, the one that began in my throat and down whenever I saw that _look _from her. And she certainly gave it now, smoothing down her dress and tilting her head as she regarded me.

_Oh, shit._

"Lucien." Crisp and cool. "Be a dear and let that spell go, will you?"

A shrug from him. His grip on my collar released, letting me sink properly back onto my feet in the mud. It took a few moments but with his concentration gone I could twitch my fingers, crack my jaw. "Mum – "

"You _directly_ disobeyed me."

"Not _directly_ – "

"I _told _you to stay behind. You are still under the Brotherhood's watch and who knows who could be out here – "

"_Him!"_ I jerked away from them both, wishing, cursing myself that I hadn't thought to try and find some weapon before coming here. And yet – he didn't move to silence me, to attack us. He didn't look like a threat. No moreso than usual, anyway. "Maman, you left, you didn't _hear_, the Orc, Gogron, he thought – "

"He thought it was the Speaker who attacked him." I stopped short, blinking as mum finished with a sigh. "I know, sweet, he told me."

"He – he told you?" I turned as Lucien watched me, giving a grim smile at my bewilderment.

"I did. And while I would _love_ to stand here and watch you receive the scolding you so richly deserve, I must tend to my horse. Abelle?"

She handed him something – wrappings, a jar of salve. He turned, heading back to the fort's courtyard. "His horse?"

"The traitor – they must have attacked her when they were here." A sigh from mum as she flicked a clod of mud from my shoulder. "Lucien is no traitor, I promise you. I grew up alongside him, Dusty. He wouldn't have told me what Gogron said if he was." A little smile. "Besides, he adores that horse. He'd sooner cut off his hand than hurt her."

So – so he'd been telling us the truth. Solace knowing mum was never really in danger, guilt sour in the back of my mouth and mum – mum read it all in a sweep of her eyes.

"Do you have any magicka left?"

"A bit. It came back coming up the hill, after…" After I'd used the last of it to escape the Sanctuary. Mum shook her head and gestured for me to follow.

_Why the hell should I feel guilty for accusing him? Traitor or not, he's a murderer. A sadist, a monster._

_And so is your mother. _My stomach lurched.

We followed Lucien's trail back into the courtyard and to a sheltered alcove, what once must have been storage for the soldiers who once held this fort. She paused in front of the ragged curtain dividing it. "Go in."

"Mum…"

"Go."

She was thinking what I was thinking, saw the guilt in my eyes and what I wanted to do, but she wasn't going to tell me to do it. I had to take the initiative. A low inhale. I lifted the dripping, torn tarp to duck underneath, eyes adjusting to the new torchlight on…

Oh. _Wow._

Beside Lucien where he knelt as he worked stood the horse. Pure black with crimson eyes, a smooth and well-kept mane and coat. Beautifully fearsome. She gazed at me with intelligent eyes and snorted, pawing at the ground and tossing her head. And all around her, the tingle of – _something._ Something dark and absent and whispering, something not of this plane.

A black mare with red eyes. I hadn't dreamt that, either.

"What is it."

I startled, blinking and shaking off my dripping sleeves. Dammit, this robe would take _days _to dry out. A retort died on my lips, swallowed back down as instead I moved in close.

"I – I can try to heal her, if you like. Speed along the salve."

Only then did he turn, rising, looming over me in that small room for a moment. His face stern, jaw set, then twisting to one side like he was tasting the moment. Then, a nod. He moved to the mare's front, letting me to the now bandaged wound as he began to stroke her muzzle, murmuring comfort I couldn't hear.

Memories. Sirius letting me watch as one of the mares gave birth, as the foal took its first wobbly steps. Healing the black eye he'd gotten from trying to set the broken ankle of a fierce stallion. Riding for the first time. _Real gentle and quiet-like, princess, or you'll scare 'em. Come in from the side where they can see._

I moved in slowly, taking the spot Lucien had held before, moving my hands over her flank as she softly whickered. Over velvety black hide, then bandages, letting what remained of my magicka leave me in warm, ivory wisps. Closing my eyes, concentrating, letting flesh reach for flesh and knit anew. Only when I was emptied again did I step away, head splitting, but content.

"She'll be fine. Just a few days rest so it doesn't open again."

A soft, low rumble from the mare. Lucien's hands slid from her as he stepped back, eyeing my work before apparently approving and glancing back to me.

"Come inside."

I followed. Tired, _gods,_ I was tired, my mind replaying the night so far - Gogron's limp head in my hand, Telaendril's soft sobs. Lucien's voice startled me out of my thoughts as he hovered before the tree entrance.

"You did the right thing." A glance over his shoulder, eyes dark, the gentleness of his tone surprising me. "You may not believe it. But you did."

I began to descend only well after he had. Happy at least to get out of the rain, though I was so soaking wet that it hardly seemed to matter, anyway. It made it difficult to find footing on the wooden rungs and as I glanced down…

Oh. _Oh._ That was a drop. Only ten, perhaps twelve more feet to the stone where Lucien and mum looked up at me. But still. _Still._ I turned back and clung to the rope harder, biting back a whimper as the ladder swayed.

"…Are you _coming?_"

"Mmn. No." I heard my voice pitch up but couldn't stop it, white-knuckled on the rung, trying to make my boots keep their tenuous, waterlogged place. Staring at the wall, rather than down. "No, I'm fine here, thank you."

"Oh, Dusty, don't tell me…" Mum, with a mixture of amusement and despair. _"Still?"_

"Gravity hasn't _stopped_, maman."

"What is this nonsense?" Lucien, impatient as mum gave a laugh she at least tried to stifle.

"She's afraid of heights."

"_Heights."_ Flat, his voice, the resulting sigh. I head him step closer and tightened my grip.

"I am _not_ afraid of heights. I am afraid of the splat at the end, which is a perfectly _reasonable_ thing to be afraid of."

"You're being absurd. Step down."

He was right. I knew that, and I cursed my childish fear, but _still._ Eyes squeezed shut I inched my foot downwards, feeling carefully for the next rung. Only when I was completely, utterly certain I had it did my next step follow.

"Has this always been the case?"

"Oh, _no_." I could almost hear mum's little smirk.

"Mum, don't you _dare_ – "

"She used to love climbing trees. Got her away from the governess, you see." She ploughed on through my protests. "Until she got just a little too ambitious…"

"_Maman!"_

"Climbed up too high in the middle of the night and fell, got stuck in the branches, which I'm sure, thank Sithis, saved her life. Broke her nose – you see that cute little bump she has on it? And hung upside-down – "

"All tangled in my dress and hair and dripping blood until one of the guards saw me, yes, maman, I _remember,_ can you _please_ – "

"And _still_ stuck until we could get in a mage from the city to levitate up and bring her back down to us." I groaned, then caught my breath as hands reached firmly around my waist support my weight. When had I gotten low enough to…?

Oh. Mum had been distracting me. Admittedly, it was easier to focus on my humiliation than my fear while she spoke, edging my way down. Lucien's chuckle behind me, words dripping with disdain.

"There are Altmer who stand at this height regularly_. Let go_."

A moment's hesitation. Breathing deep, I obeyed, swallowing a little whimper as the hands tightened and my feet hit the ground, only then releasing my breath in a gust of relief. Without a word he turned, letting me survey the place he called his home.

Cold stone walls, high and powerful, decorated with tapestries bearing the same hand as I saw on the door in the Sanctuary. The flickering shadows of candles, torches, a fire on the far wall that gave the room welcome light and warmth. A bed and dresser, a table and chairs, a workspace littered with papers, an alchemical table where a jar of ectoplasm glowed eerily. A bench near the fire where mum sat, gesturing for me to join her as I rubbed my numb arms.

"You're soaked through, chérie. Come and dry off for a bit."

I joined her. Lucien seemed to busy himself looking through cupboards near the alchemy table – for what I didn't know, and was too tired to care. I let out a sigh, bone-deep, maman reaching to stroke my back.

"Lucien told me everything, dear." I didn't want to meet her eyes, see the sympathy in them, and kept my gaze on the fire. "I know it must have been hard. But this is a dangerous life, and Gogron knew that. And if it meant helping protect his Brothers and Sisters, I'm sure he would have given his life gladly."

"But it_ didn't_ help." Harder I rubbed my arms in vain, scrubbing the wet cloth against chafed skin. The fire was almost too hot, seeming to make my robes steam, my cheeks roast. "He died for nothing."

"Not for nothing. We know the traitor may be close now, and we will be better guarded for it. That, however small, is something."

We fell silent. I closed my eyes and listened to the pop and crackle of the hearth, how the sounds seemed to emanate through the vast halls of this fort turned tomb, turned home. Soon it became too much and I broke it again.

"… Why aren't _you_ wet?"

"Lucien has a little spell for it. Was kind enough to cast it on me, too." She raised her chin as he approached again from behind us. "Perhaps he'd teach you. You could ask."

"Ask me what?" A raised brow. I shook my head, frowning as he offered a vial.

"Nothing – what is this?"

"To restore your magick. Drink."

He wasn't lying. I could feel the magicka practically emanating from within the bottle, my head throbbing harder in response. The work of a moment to pop off the cork and drink, but getting it down was a little bit harder. I felt my face contort, eye twitching shut as I fought the urge to gag and forced it down in a sickly swallow.

"Oh. Oh, that is – _truly_ foul."

"Nevertheless, it does the job."

I inhaled, pushing off another little shiver at the aftertaste. Stinkhorn Cap, ground flax seeds, hyacinth nectar. Still, the resulting warmth, the rush of feeling my magicka begin to return was worth it. I rubbed at my head. "… Might try adding some blackberry juice. Trade out some of the nectar, add some – _eugh_ – lard to balance out the stinkhorn…"

"I'll keep that in mind." That false humility, again dripping from his voice before he settled at his desk. My breath shivered out.

"… I know you followed me to protect me, chérie. And I appreciate that, truly." Mum moved a slick curl off my brow, clucking her tongue in distaste as the mud in my hair. "But I wouldn't have come if I didn't trust Lucien, with my life. And darling – I say this with nothing but respect – I am_ far_ more capable of protecting myself than you are."

It stung. Even knowing it was true, it stung, worse for knowing there was a reason she was more capable. She'd taken lives before. Perhaps many lives, many times. She'd lived in this world since childhood, and I was only beginning to skim the surface.

"It just isn't your way, Dust, and I wouldn't change that about you for the world." A soft smile. Only now did I notice there were new lines around her lips, since I'd last seen her. "You're as dry as you're going to get without stripping off, I'm afraid. Let's get you back, so we can get you some fresh robes."

I mulled for a moment, glancing over to the desk, the skritch of a quill. "… I want to talk to him, first."

Surprise furrowed her brow. A nod and she stood, smoothing down her skirts again with a sigh. "I'll wait outside, check on Shadowmere. Though I'm sure you did a fine job, I do remember her fondly."

She knew her then, all those years ago? "Mum – what is she?"

"… A gift. A blessing." She folded her delicate hands, her rings catching glimmering light from the fire. "No one is entirely certain but – there are theories." At my raised brows, she continued.

"I believe she, and the few other beings like her, are – manifestations of the void itself. As tools, as guardians, given when one of us who has passed on wishes to give tribute to another who still lives. It is a rare honour. Lucien received Shadowmere shortly after his Speaker passed on, and their bond was – instant. Someday, he may pass her on to another, or she may return to the void until her time will come again."

A shiver passed through me, even with the cold long gone. What was it these people – no, that my _mother,_ believed? The Void, Sithis, the Night Mother – so many pieces, but though ominous, they were still just words.

_So are the Divines_, came the thought. Raised under their glass eyes in the chapel, paying occasional visits during important holy days – though I would use their names, though they meant so much to papa, they meant little to me. But I didn't kill for them.

"Come up, when you're ready. I'll wait."

A candle flickered strong on a lone desk, the scratch of a quill and sputter of flame the only sounds. I pursed my lips, daring to edge closer. Lucien pored over his work, his hand moving with flourishes as he wrote. _He doesn't look like a murderer, now_. He looked like a scholar, any I'd known in the University lost to their work. The memory of home brought a little smile.

"Either speak, or leave. Standing there looking pretty does little for my impression of you."

The memory fled. I inhaled, steeling myself. "… I…" It made me prickle in annoyance to admit it, but. "I owe you an apology."

"Oh?" He hadn't stopped writing.

"I – I assumed. I was worried about maman." I hugged myself for a moment. "… But I still don't think we did right by Gogron."

"And that," he spoke smoothly even as he redipped his quill. "Is why you are not ready."

"But – "

"Your mother is waiting for you, and I have work to attend to."

I wanted to argue. Protest and stand there glaring until he would tell me, _make_ me understand, but there was no room in his voice for argument. I let my shoulders slump and returned to the dangling rope ladder, glancing up, taking a deep breath. Difficult to get up there with robes on, clinging to my skin, but going up was easier than trying to go down, keeping my eyes on the hatch. Still, I stalled on the last few rungs, growling under my breath.

"You know, you really ought to think of your more _vertically challenged_ guests…"

A low chuckle. "I'll keep that in mind. You're very close. Just a little further, pet."

He had moved, back under me now to watch me climb. I shot him a glare and regretted it, turning back to face the hatch and reaching up, pressing it open. _I know I'm close, you condescending…_

Or did he mean something else, entirely?

I pushed myself, clambering up until I was close enough to slide out. "… Goodnight, Lucien."

A cold smile.

"Goodnight."


	20. Chapter Twenty

A new hush had fallen even over a place so quiet. And yet, in the silence, there was a sense of frenzy.

I didn't fully understand what it meant, but I knew enough to feel the apprehension in the air. The dread. To understand the rituals of cleaning up, preparing the Sanctuary to receive their most honoured guests.

_The Black Hand is coming. The Listener is coming._

I, for my part, did whatever I was told. Scrubbed off the mud from the night before, helped sweep and clean even the smallest corners of cobwebs. The sticky film clung to the end of my broom, and I was trying to shake it off when footsteps came up from behind.

"Dusty?"

Antoinetta. Mostly back to her normal self, despite the events of that night. She beamed, giving me a little poke in the shoulder. "The Speaker wants us to make something for our – our guests tonight." It sounded recited, not her usual excitement or more casual words.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, simpering. "Does '_the Speaker'_ know I'm an alchemist, not his personal gods damned _chef_?"

A gasp left her. She took the broom and went to swat me with it, making me step a little faster to keep away as she trotted after me. "Look, I know you're an outsider, but you're still stuck here, aren't you? You need to show proper respect or keep your mouth _shut_." Sudden anger in her voice, then it lowered to a murmur. "…And you don't know what he's done for me."

Now that – _that,_ grave as it was, was all her. I stopped in my tracks to glance back, frowning. "What did he – "

"We've got _work_ to do. March, prisoner!"

A sigh. I marched. Within the hour she'd forgiven my transgression, happily giving me food to chop, plates to scrub and re-scrub when they weren't up to her satisfaction. Humming and chattering between tasks, only occasionally falling into silence with a distant look in her eyes. Thinking of her Brother, perhaps, now gone. A sacrifice in the name of their safety, all in vain, and yet she seemed to hold no anger, no sense of injustice as I did.

What about these people earned this kind of devotion? Was it all simply out of fear?

They arrived one by one. I didn't realize it, at first. One by one a family member would come by, taking what we cooked with them - I had thought, at first, for themselves. It took seeing a new face for me to realize the truth.

He walked in whisper silent. Neither of us realized he was there until Antoinetta turned, her little gasp nearly making me drop my work to the floor. "Oh – Bellamont!"

"That will be Speaker now, Antoinetta." Gods, his voice was empty. She dipped her head, golden curls bobbing. "Since the death of Speaker Blanchard, at the traitor's hands."

"We – we all mourn his passing, and wish him peace in the Night Mother's embrace." Another recited answer, even if the feeling behind it was genuine. When I put my work down and approached she made a point of glaring over her shoulder, dipping her head down again.

_I'm not one of them._ But neither did I want to take any chances. Politely, I dipped my head just a little bit higher than she.

"It is good to see you well, Sister." I looked up as he said it, and shivered to find his eyes not on Antoinetta, but – but on _me_. Hazel eyes, drawn beneath with bags of exhaustion. Piercing, searching. _He doesn't know who I am. That's all._ I let my gaze dart away.

"And you, Speaker. Thank you for gracing us with your…"

He didn't wait for her to finish. A turn on his heel and he was out, leaving us both boneless, needing a moment to steady ourselves. Only when he was well gone and we returned to our work did I whisper to her. "What was that about?"

"Be – _Speaker _Bellamont used to be Blanchard's Silencer," Antoinetta explained patiently as though she expected me to understand what it meant. "When Blanchard was killed, Bellamont took his place. I haven't seen him in a long time, not since I was last in Anvil. Before Maria disappeared."

"Maria?" I'd heard that name before, hadn't I? Yes, eavesdropping just before mum had arrived.

"His – I don't know. They were fond of each other, anyway." She slid a line of chopped onions off her blade, sighing. "She was the first one to disappear." Then, a little smile up at me. "You look a lot like her, actually. Probably why he was looking at you funny."

I shivered. "I hope not. Antoinetta, what's a Silencer?"

A sigh. She shook her head – maybe tired of explaining, maybe like Lucien thinking I simply wasn't ready to understand. We returned to our work in silence.

Perhaps what frightened me most is that the people who entered that day, one alone, two side by side, could have been anyone. I could have passed them on the streets – maybe had done, in the past – and I never would have known it. They were dressed for travel, coming from distant ends of Cyrodiil hungry and tired, needing rest.

It was only late that night that things changed. That they donned those deep black robes, and became something somehow both inhuman and more than human.

They gathered in a meeting chamber, circled around the table. Lucien, the Speaker I now knew as Bellamont, a Khajiit with hands folded, a Bosmer…

And my mother. Dressed not in robes like them but her usual elegant clothes, sitting calm and poised and beautiful as I'd always known her. I dared only a moment of eye contact as Antoinetta and I made our way around the table with pitchers in hand, her enlisting me to help in the task before leaving them to speak.

"Good wine as always. Who would have known a vampire would have such good tastes." It was the Khajiit who spoke as I poured for another, raising his goblet and casting a lidded gaze in my direction. "And a serving wench? Pretty thing, for a human."

I had to bite my tongue hard to keep a scowl off my face, prickling hot with embarrassment. Mum, composed as ever, murmured. "I'll thank you not to talk about my daughter that way, J'Ghasta." She gave quiet thanks when I filled her wine and I felt – _lost._ There was no affection in it.

I was losing her. Already, I was losing her, and soon I'd lose her completely.

"You are dismissed." The Bosmer spoke. Antoinetta bowed, face flushed, before grabbing my arm and pulling me outside, shutting the heavy door behind her. Outside she gave a long sigh, a full-body shiver shook off.

"I've – I've never seen them all gathered like that." She kept her voice low even now, dragging a hand through her hair so it fell back in clumped strands. "Scary, isn't it?"

"I still don't understand who they are."

Another infuriating little shake of her head. "I like you, Dusty, but you're still an outsider. There's still a lot you don't get to know. Not now, at least – maybe not ever. But maybe, if they let you stay – or if you become one of us…"

At the shake of my head she sighed. "You just don't understand."

A growl. I turned back in the direction of the meeting room and Antoinetta grabbed my arm with a hiss. "What are you doing?"

"I'm _going_ to understand."

"Are you _insane_? You can't just – just eavesdrop on the _Black Hand!_ They've slit throats for so much _less,_ Dusty. And with a traitor around – "

"And how are you going to stop me?" I turned on her, and it almost hurt to see the shock in her eyes. Even in this short time, she'd come to like me. Perhaps even trust me, a little. "You going to be the one to go in there and rat me out, interrupt their little parley?"

My own cruelty surprised me. But the thought – mum was in there. Joining – or had she ever really left? - some, some group of murderous cultists with a faith I couldn't begin to understand, becoming someone I didn't know and _gods_, I couldn't bear it.

Her little nose wrinkled. A humph and, her gloved fists tight, she fled in the other direction. I'd hurt her. But I could deal with that later.

For now I edged back to the doorway. Closed, making it difficult to hear through, but then that meant they wouldn't hear me outside. Lucien had caught me twice – I couldn't afford a third.

"…The unusual circumstances… Abelle suitable…"

_No_. I dug my fingers into the wood of the door. _No. Let it be in the past. She _was _a murderer. She _was_ an assassin, I could almost accept that. But not now. Let it be not now._

"Gro-Bolmog… Farragut…"

The Orc's bloodless face flashed in memory. For a minute their voices went low, too low for me to catch anything but wordless murmurs, then…

"And the girl?"

_Me._ My heart skipped a beat.

And another, as a strong hand closed over my mouth.

My fighting did no good. I was dragged just down the hall, far away enough from the door not to be heard, before I was release and pushed up against the wall.

I'd never seen Vicente angry. The weeks I'd known him, it had become impossible to imagine. But all at once, I was reminded he was one of them, too. A murderer, and more – a vampire, those blood-red eyes flashing down on me. But somehow my anger overpowered my fear, and I moved to jerk away.

"Vicente, let_ go_ of me – "

"Enough." A deadly low whisper, leaving me shrinking. It was worse than if he'd roared. "It is only by virtue of your ignorance of our ways and Antoinetta's quick thinking that you will live through that mistake." She had ratted me out, after all. I caught my breath as he let me go to regain my footing, hissing through gritted teeth and blinking back tears.

"Vicente, that is my _mother_ in there. I have a right to know what's happening."

"She has a right to make her decisions as she sees fit."

More than mine. That hurt. I inhaled sharply, rubbing my arm where he'd grabbed me. Already, I could feel that it would bruise, but it was my heart that felt like it was gripped tight.

"You must understand, Dust." His gaze, his voice softened. "If you are kept ignorant, it is for your own good. To fight it is folly. You will bring danger not only to yourself, but those you hold dear. If it had been the traitor at Fort Farragut that night, do you think you could have fought them off, truly? Or do you think your mother would have died protecting you?"

Realization. I shuddered, wiping at my eyes and gulping hard. "I – I didn't think…"

"You are young, and you do not know our ways. It is understandable. But you are in danger you cannot begin to fathom."

My death might lay in that room. It took all my will not to shake now, to force my fingers to uncurl as they went bloodless_. If they – the Black Hand, the Listener decide I'm not worth the trouble, if maman can't convince them…_

The door swung open, jolting me. Already, I could feel sweat beading on my brow. One by one they filtered out, all but one with maman the last. Her gaze came to rest on me, smile – fragile. I knew that smile. The same she'd worn preparing me for my engagement. The same when she told me what she'd done to my father, our family.

No.

"Darling." She came in close, took my hands in her own with a squeeze. A glance to Vicente, silent communication I couldn't understand before her focus was back on me. "The Listener wishes to speak with you, personally."

"With…" I felt all colour drain from me, plummeting with my stomach. "Why?"

"It is not my place to question him. Mind the lace, chérie." A kiss on my brow as I frowned, mulling over the words, a spark of memory flashing.

The manor. Often Toltette had guests of stature, and as I grew older, possible suitors for myself and Anya. And with my tendencies for rebellion, mum needed a way to remind me to behave, to watch my manners, without making the social faux pas of a public scolding. A little code phrase, just between us. So many whispered little warnings, over the years.

_Mind the lace._

"I'll wait for you out here. It'll be alright, Dust." Did she believe that, herself? I couldn't tell. She was my stepfather's wife still, the mistress of House Toltette, in charge of perfect social poise in the face of the rudest guests. If she wanted to hide her feelings, her fear, she could.

A squeeze of my hand. A little pat on my back. Silence, to send me off.

He wasn't a remarkable man, at a glance. I hadn't been able to pick him out from the Speakers before – a Bosmer, standing and overlooking one of the plaques of the Tenets on the wall as I entered, the door creaking shut again behind me.

I stood silent. Didn't dare come closer, clear my throat, do anything to catch his attention. I didn't want it on me, as it was. In time he turned, raising a brow and regarding me as I dipped low in a bow more out of instinct than any understanding of protocol.

"Miss Dust." A clipped voice. Neat, smooth. I would never have thought it to belong to someone like him.

"Listener…"

"Listener," he interrupted, gaze fixed on me, tilting his head just slightly. Like a bird of prey, eyeing me. "Do you know what that word means, Dust? The weight it carries?"

"I…" I tried to bite down on the tremble in my voice, taking a breath to speak smoother. "No, sir. I don't."

"Do not feign to use words you do not understand. You are not one of us."

I hung my head, stiffening. "… I'm sorry, sir."

A new shiver down my back as he pulled free a dagger from his belt – another twin to the one my mother held, to the one that had tangled me in all of this. He toyed with it idly, turning from me again as he spoke.

"Are you aware of the plans your mother and Speaker Lucien have for you?"

"I believe so, sir. They wish me to – to stay on, here, as an alchemist to the Sanctuary." _Permanently._ That was beginning to sink in.

Even if I wasn't killed now where I stood, I'd never be able to return to the Arcane University – they'd never let me so far out of their sight. I could never go home.

"Perhaps such a thing would be acceptable." He spoke lightly, circling the blade in his hand, throwing it and catching it easily in deft motions. Such a casual way of telling me it could be buried in my heart before I'd even feel it break the skin. "The Dark Brotherhood is not simply a collective of assassins. We need many talents to operate, as any business does. Healers. Spies and brokers, such as your sister." A small, tight smile in my direction, those eyes impaling me to the spot. "And alchemists, Miss Dust."

I nodded, but he spoke on without acknowledging me. Slowly drawing in closer as he toyed with the knife one-handed, not quite circling but shrinking in on me, making me shrink myself. "I could allow it. You could live on here in the Sanctuary, or in the city itself, so long as you served us and remained under our watch, our law. But then Abelle, if she is as loyal as she claims, will do as I command regardless of what I do with you. And you know more than many of us are comfortable with."

My jaw shook. I couldn't help it. "I – I wouldn't betray the Family my mother holds dear, sir. But…"

I realized I'd spoken the last syllable too late to pull it back. Terror as the Listener turned on me again, regarded me with those eyes that seemed to see past me, through me. "But?"

"I – I don't…" A shuddering exhale. "I don't want to murder, sir."

"No?" Amused, like the circle of a smile a knife draws across a throat. "That wouldn't be your duty. At least, it would not be your hand that would deal the killing blow. But you will make more than your salves and tonics, Miss Dust. We would expect poisons, poisons we will use in our craft, use to please our Dread Father. Can you accept that, I wonder?"

I felt limbless, helpless, unable to catch my breath.

If I refused, they'd kill me.

What choice did I have?

I must have nodded, even if I didn't realize it. He unrolled a parchment, strangely dark and thick, on the table before approaching me, closing in with a slowness that made it all the worse. I held my ground, frozen in place.

"Give me your hand."

I did, wanting more than anything to pull away. His grip was gentle, but the kiss of the blade across my palm was anything but. I hissed through my teeth, flinching as he pulled the dagger back and forced my palm closed, squeezing it in his own.

"Normally, it would be a Speaker's duty to handle this task. The assignations of servants are, of course, underneath my notice. But given your unusual status, it is better to be clear." He guided me to the table, the parchment. It wasn't hard to figure out what he wanted.

Only this close did I see why the parchment was so black, so oddly textured. Handprints. Bloody handprints, one atop the other, in spots all over the page. Some new enough to be clear in their details, the lines of the palms. Others indistinct and, perhaps, ancient.

Others, like me? Not Family, not free?

"A tithe, and a tying."

I placed my hand down. Holding it for a long moment, letting the red of my palm sink instead into the page, permanently dyeing it with a part of me. Only when I pulled away did the Listener give a nod, that same clean, polite smile.

"It is done. You belong to us, now, Miss Dust." Did I whimper? Did I catch my breath, and did he hear? "You may go."

I left. Trembling like a leaf, stumbling out of the room, down the hall, into maman's arms as she caught me tight.

"He - he agreed."

"Thank Sithis." Relief in her sigh, then confusion as she took my face in her hands. "Dust?"

_She's wearing their robes._ Only now did I realize it, pulling back. Seeing her, my beautiful, pale mother, not in her silk and spilling-heavy satin but sheer black crisply buttoned to her throat.

_Not mine_.

"I need…" I pulled away from her. "I need to be alone."

Mercifully, I saw no more of them that night. Again the Speakers and Listener – the Black Hand – filed out, as subtly as they'd entered. I didn't go to the room I shared with maman, didn't dare. I couldn't face her. Not tonight.

Instead I retreated to the kitchen. This late, it would be likely empty as I'd found it many times before. I could find something to do, maybe tidying up after the last of our cooking…

Instead, I found Antoinetta waiting for me. Arms crossed, pouting as she leaned against one of the tables. "I _thought _I'd find you trying to sneak away and hide in here."

_Well._ She'd picked up on my habits. I sucked in a breath. "Antoinetta – I'm sorry. I – "

"I'm still mad at you, you know." A haughty toss of her hair. "But you can make it up to me."

"I can?" A blink.

"You can!" She picked up something behind her – a bottle. A large one, filled nearly to the cork with richly red wine. "Vicente said I'm supposed to give this to you and your mum. Now, I _could_ do that, and you could take it, and I could go on hating you for being so mean. Or…"

I didn't have enough of my head for this game. "Or…?"

"_Or_, since it belongs to you, you offer to share, and that way _I'm _not stealing Vicente's good wine and breaking a tenet, but I still get to have my fair share." A sloshing as she shook the bottle, grin spreading ear to ear. "Well?"

I laughed. I was all I could do, wiping tears from my eyes, breath hitching in little giggles that threatened to turn into sobs.

"You know what, Antoinetta? I could use a drink. I really, _really_ could."


	21. Chapter Twenty-One

It is startlingly easy how simply a drink can become two, can become three, can become a third of a bottle. How simple it is to throw away all your cares – a murderer for a mother, a life of servitude awaiting you, your new best friend is a bubbly, homicidal maniac – when all you taste is good, sweet wine.

"You're drunk, Dusty."

"_You're_ drunk." I threw the accusation back even knowing it was true, brow furrowing. "Antoinetta. Why are you so nice t'me?"

One of her exasperated sighs – I'd once again asked the obvious. "I'll be blunt with you, Dusty. You're a _scholar._" She said the word like an insult. "A pestle-humper, nose in a book. But do you see any other ladies our age around here, hm?"

I examined my goblet as I listened, surprised to find I was ready for a top off. "Um – no?"

"_No."_ Antoinetta happily obliged, reaching over to pour the ever-shrinking wine into my drink as I raised it in a cheer and drank deep. "It's either the boys talking nonsense, or the older ladies all trying to mother us. But us girls, we need to stick together, Dusty. We're in the prime of our youth. We need a chance to stretch, be silly, have some _fun_." A wicked, painted grin. "And to gossip."

I covered a hiccup. "I'm not… not much of a gossiper, r'ly."

"I know, but you're the best I've got." A drawn out lament. She sipped from her own goblet – for all her talk of having fun, I was guzzling far quicker than she. "So. What's with you and the Speaker, hm?"

A groan. "I keep trying to chase him down, get some, some, some damned _answers _out've him. But he won't. Soon, he says! 'Be patient', they say! 'S for my own good, in't it?!" I scoffed under my breath, curing my annoyance with another swig. This _was_ good wine, and only tasting better the more I drank.

"That's not what I mean." She crossed her arms on the table, leaning closer to give a conspiratorial whisper. "I _mean_ you're spending an awful lot of time around him. And considering you're an outsider, he's been fairly nice to you, don't you think? Not as good as he was to _me_ when he found me…"

It wasn't _quite_ the last subject I wanted to discuss. That was my mother, what future I could build trapped underground. A hiccup, and I took the bait. "What're you trying t'ask me, 'Netta?"

"Well." Primly she batted her lashes. "What do you think of him?"

"Lucien?" I scoffed, leaning back in my chair. "He's an arrogant, slimy Imperial bastard – "

"He's not arrogant, he's confident and he's not slimy, he's _charming_. He's handsome, too."

"So?"

"Well, isn't he?" A little wiggle of her shoulders, eyes catlike as she rested her face in her hands, elbows on the table. "You don't _deny _it, do you?"

Well. _Gods,_ it was hard to think straight through the haze of wine. I could picture his face and – no. No, it wasn't unpleasant. Those dark eyes, that muzzle, the way lines creased around his crooked smirk and those strong, high cheekbones. Like I'd reluctantly admitted to myself in the laboratory, he _was_ handsome. "I s'pose not, no."

"And his _voice_." A dreamy sigh from her. "They couldn't have chosen a better man to be a Speaker. It's just, it's so…" The wine was clearly beginning to affect her, too. I glared my disapproval over the table behind my goblet, wiping what remained off my lips.

"It's _attractive_, Antoinetta, I've noticed." I rolled my eyes. "It doesn't change the fact that he's – "

"I _knew_ it!" She stood. The table shook with the motion, giving my goblet a precarious wobble as I tried to hold it steady. A smug smirk. "You like him."

"Have y'not heard a word I've said? He's an egotistical – "

"I mean you _fancy_ him, Dusty. Like those little potions you made, whattertheycalled, the, the…" She twirled a hand in thought, brow furrowing, then her eyes lit up. "Apher-oh-dizzy-acs! _That _sort of like." A giggle behind her hand. "It's okay. I like him, too. How could I _not?_"

"I do _not_ – "

"You just said yourself he's attractive." Antoinetta had her arms crossed, smiling like a cat who'd managed to knock the lid off a jar of cream and was just about to enjoy the spoils when it all vanished at once. A sloshing as I spilled my drink over my lap in a jerk, as Antoinetta froze in place. A low chuckle behind us.

"I am – _flattered_, ladies, to be the topic of your gossip." Poor Antoinetta turned bright red, a hand clapped over her mouth before she hid her face in a bow. "If disappointed by the lack of respect in the act. Antoinetta, you know _better_."

"Speaker, I…"

"Why don't you report to Ocheeva for a little reminder of what respect _means_, hm?"

Not another word from her as she scurried off. I eyed him as he watched her, scoffing when he turned his attention to me. "She's scared of you. Why's she _scared_ of you?"

A drawl of a sigh. "Because, for all her faults and her unfortunate little – _infatuation_, Antoinetta knows her place." A smirk. That stupid, _stupid _smirk that Antoinetta had gushed on about so much. Hadn't she? She must have. Else, why was it stuck in my head? "Why, pet?" A tilt of his head. "Are you not?"

I glared, shoving aside a newly empty goblet again. "Not in the least. The Listener, now, _he_ was scary, like piss-your-robes scary, 'makin me, the parchment and…" I squeezed my eyes shut, finding that somehow my mouth wasn't able to translate my much more coherent thoughts. "But you're just an, an, overstuffed, self-important Imperial _pig_."

"Albeit, an attractive one."

"I already said that!" I waved him off with one hand, glaring up. "And besides, the, the black robes…" Some faint, sober part of me was already begging me to stop. I plowed on. "Not _so _attractive, that. You look terrible in them. They wash you right out. 'S _awful_."

"You are a_ font_ of wisdom." I was – _fairly _certain he was being sarcastic but really, it was hard to tell with the wine, so I nodded anyway. "Not frightened of a man who holds your life in his hand. But of _heights_."

"The splat at the end. The _splat_. And you owe me a new set of robes."

"_You_ spilled the wine, pet." I snatched an offered rag out of his grip, trying to mop up the new reddish spot that was turning from a puddle to a dripping stain, already soaking through the material. _Shit._ "Not I."

"If you weren't such a sneaky, pop-up-from-nowhere –_ sneak _I wouldn't have."

He snickered, shaking his head. "I'll tell you what, pet." A shiver raced through me as he placed a hand on my shoulder. "I'll buy you the robes, if you'll do me a little favour."

I narrowed my eyes, shifting uncomfortably to avoid the cooling puddle adhering to my knees. "Okay. What's that, then?"

A cat's whiskered smirk. "I haven't decided yet. In due time, my dear. Simply know that you'll owe me one." At my suspicious glower, his grin turned wolfish. "Nothing that would offend your _delicate sensibilities_, I assure you."

"Delicate sensi – " I stood and whirled on him. "Lissen, _espèce de salopard_, I am _not_ some virginal, naive little _princess - "_

"You have done very little to demonstrate to me otherwise – "

I don't remember grabbing his collar. I don't remember if he was as surprised by the act as I was or if I'd just walked into a baited trap. I remember thin, harsh lips, the scent of witch hazel and pine. The touch of grizzled chin to my own. I remember a fiery, all too brief meeting of lips before I pulled back and stared in drunken shock, more at what I'd done than at him.

He stroked his chin for a moment. Thoughtful, amused, intense. I squirmed under his gaze for a moment, feeling my face flare red hot as he murmured.

"My, my. There might be something more to you than I'd guessed, pet. "

I needed a moment to catch my breath, to think through the heat enveloping me. Still, it hadn't been a lie. I wasn't some innocent little ingénue. A hand on my hip, the sort of breathy voice I'd use with Bolor leaving me in a hiss. "I'll be sure to _keep_ you guessing."

"Is everything alright in here?"

We both jerked to see mum in the threshold now, tilting her head as she approached, eyes narrowed. Still in those black robes, giving the slender frame I'd inherited a strange strength and structure, a new power behind it. Lucien stepped back and dipped his head.

"Just checking in with our new alchemist. I was going to give her this, in fact." From within his robe he pulled out a sheet of folded parchment. My vision swam and bobbed, but I knew those names by heart. Wisp stalk, daedra venin, nightshade…

The lovely bubbly feeling, the warmth that had come from – _whatever_ had just happened, it all turned to ashes at once. "Poisons."

"Naturally. Speaker Abelle." Mum closed in as he left, picking up the bottle – only a goblet or two left in it, now – and shaking her head.

"Chérie, I _know_ this must be difficult, but this is hardly the appropriate way to –"

"Oh, and murder _is_ appropriate, is it? Throwing away th'life you had to, to – " I stalked away from her, across the room and towards the hearth instead. The fire had died long ago for the night, leaving only a peek of faint yellow under the coal. "To come here and, and, be one of _them_, like you never really _wanted _t'leave, like everything else was juss, just a _lie_."

"Dusty…"

_You're drunk. Stop and think, _a voice scolded_, before you make an ass of yourself again_. I dragged my fist over my lips to rub off the sensation that remained.

_You belong to us, now. _My hands shook holding the parchment. I balled it up in my palm.

"…Mum. Do you think you would have been happier, if you'd stayed here?" I grabbed ahold of the hearth's mantel and leaned there, closing my eyes against the swaying, roiling ground beneath me. "If you'd never met papa? If you'd become a Suh-Speaker before like you were s'possed to? If you'd never had us as your family?"

I heard her inhale through her nares, her steps sharp and quick over to me. Vague surprise through the fog as she took my head, cool, gloved hands resting on my cheeks.

"Gabriel Anne Dust Toltette, you listen _well_."

"It's just Du – " A look, just a_ look_, was enough to silence me. I bit my tongue as she spoke.

"I have many regrets, my dear. And while perhaps this life would have suited me better – perhaps, I would have been more content here – having you and your sister has _never_ been one of them."

She pulled me in tight. I couldn't fight her, any more than I could have when she first came, first told me everything, but still… "I don't know who you _are,_ maman. The true you."

"It doesn't have to be one or the other, my sweet. I have my Family, and my family. I am a mother, and I am a Daughter of Sithis, and I am both with pride. None of us are as simple as we seem. You, too, _mon chou_."

"How?"

"I was – worried about you. I followed you, been keeping an ear. Thought to let you have your fun with Antoinetta. I heard what she called you. A scholar. And you are – my bright, talented, book-loving alchemist, you _are,_ and you should be proud." Her eyes crinkled, a knowing smile curving her lips and pressing her cheeks high. "But you are also my little _minx_ of a daughter, as much as you ever were."

_She – oh._

_She heard._

I must have turned red again for how she laughed, hugging me, smoothing hair off my brow. Her hands felt cool, so cool against my flushed skin, her body so steadying and solid against mine. "You're drunk, darling, I know you weren't thinking straight, but still. He _is _a bastard, have no doubt in that. I think you took him by surprise."

I pursed my lips. There was so much I wanted to say to her, but through the haze only one thing left me then.

"Should I be proud of _that_, too?"

She cackled, all the way through taking my arm and shepherding me as I stumbled out to the hall, still chuckling and wiping tears from her eyes by the time we got to our room. Another kiss on my brow as she persuaded me down on my bed, pushing an earthenware cup of water in my hands.

"Drink this so you won't hate yourself quite so much and go to sleep, _chérie_."

"Whadaboudamorrow?" It all came out in a single drawl before I glugged the water.

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

Only a crack of light remained as she blew out the candle and closed the door, leaving me atop the covers, letting my head sink into the pillow. I could feel just flickers of the night's events, ready to replay in my head…

But I was tired_. I should change_, came the thought, _change out've these wine-soaked robes, that bastard, owe him a favour…_

Tomorrow. I could deal with it all tomorrow.

I guessed it to be well after noon when I finally awoke, though it was impossible to tell in the Sanctuary. Still, it felt like I'd slept a long time, and hard. I awoke bleary-eyed, sore-headed and groggy, still in those wine-soaked robes until I stiffly changed and tried to remember the night before.

The Listener. The parchment, my bloodied hand, the deal. That, I remembered. And I'd found a crumpled slip of paper in my pocket before changing, detailing the reagents on hand, the – the creations I was meant to make. I remembered maman holding my head, telling me with such conviction that she loved me. A good memory. A warm one.

But I'd embarrassed myself, too. I was sure of it. _Dammit, how? New robes. Simply know that you'll owe me one. Delicate sensi –_

_Oh._

I remembered now.

_Stupid._ I cursed myself all through the morning, splashing my face with icy water, half-heartedly munching on a slice of too-dry bread. _Stupid, stupid, stupid! What were you thinking? Never be able to look that smug bastard in the eye again –_

_Alright. Alright. Calm down._ I forced myself to breathe deep, tidying up after myself, leaving the robe I'd washed – _dammit, that stain will never come out_ – to dry. _You've been stuck down here for weeks. You were tired, and drunk, and…_

I thought of Antoinetta, giggling and taunting me over my aphrodisiac. _Bored,_ I decided on. _Bored, and not thinking after everything. Missing Bolor._ The thought of him gave a little wave of grief but I bit it down. _He's gone. There's no point thinking on that, on what you had. You have to deal with what you have now._

_What _do _I have now?_

_One thing at a time. I should find mum first, apologize for last night…_

"There you are."

I straightened up. Ocheeva, eyeing me sharply as I swallowed hard and hoped I looked less a mess than I felt. "Ocheeva."

A show of teeth. It might have been a smile, but it didn't feel like one. "Is that how you usually address your superiors, hm? By first name?"

A trembling in my chest, a mixture of annoyance and apprehension. _Mind the lace._ "… Ma'am."

"_Better._ I have been tolerant up until now, Dust. Being first our prisoner, then our guest. But now it seems you may become a permanent addition to our little brood." She stepped closer and I had to force myself not to move away in turn, clenching and releasing clammy palms. "In which case, there are certain behaviors you will adhere to."

The urge to retort was caustic on my tongue, bitten back. Equally caustic the urge to play sickly sweet, piss her off by giving her exactly the submission she wanted in spades. I did neither.

"Behaviors that include _respect_," the last word came down like the strike of a whip, "And keeping any messy behaviors well out of my Sanctuary." She must have heard of last night, Antoinetta and I's little wine tasting. "Am I clear?"

"As crystal, ma'am." An edge entered my voice in spite of myself. I inhaled through my nares, tried to let all my tension bleed out my fingertips. _The lace, mind the lace, don't piss them off. They're the last people on Nirn you want to piss off._ "May I ask if you've seen my mother this morning?"

"She's likely off making preparations for her departure."

"Departure?"

Ocheeva inclined her head, golden eyes lidding. "You could not have expected she would remain here, did you? This is Speaker Lucien's Sanctuary. It is Kvatch that needed a new leader, and there she will be assigned."

My mouth went dry. "And what about me? Would I accompany her?"

"As I understand it, the Kvatch Sanctuary already has a talented alchemist in one of their Family members. Speaking of which, it's about time you served your _purpose_, isn't it?" A scaly brow arched and she dismissed me with the wave of a hand. Like how Tucket or Toltette had spoken to the household staff.

I stumbled away without argument to the laboratory, smoothing out the parchment Lucien gave me, seeing but not reading.

_She's leaving._

I began to pull out those dangerous reagents, many in darkened or protective jars both to seal them from light and to keep their lethal spores from entering the air I breathed.

_What if she's left already? No, she wouldn't have. Not after last night, not without saying goodbye. Would she?_

Laying them out one by one and even then, as part of my mind was on formulas, possibilities, I was thinking of her.

_No. No, she wouldn't. But she will._

_And then what?_

_I have nothing in this city. Not a coin to my name. All I have is my life, and only that because of my service. _A smile, rigid and mirthless, carved its way onto my face as I surveyed the ingredients displayed before me.

_Because of my talent._

_I have my life, because I can make others die with my talent. That's the trade I've made with them._

It finally clicked, and I knew what Lucien had meant. I wasn't ready. I'd been naive. But now - people would die because of me. They would have regardless, I was sure. With or without me, the Brotherhood would operate. But I would only help.

And now that I was finally ready? I didn't want to be. Bitter irony.

I grit my teeth, slid on my gloves and set myself to my _purpose._


	22. Chapter Twenty-Two

The afternoon passed in a haze of smoke and fumes, from behind the safety of a mask and tinted goggles, heavy leather gloves and procedures I knew like a dance.

First, purifying the water I'd use as base solvent, remembering with a pang the goal of clean water that now, it seemed, I would have to abandon. Cleaning my tools well in pure alcohol. Stripping the delicate, almost dewlike globules of venin from daedric-spun silk. Separating the deadly root from the more diluted stalk of the Nightshade sprig. Grinding fennel seeds into a fine powder, then purifying them in the calcinator.

Comforting sounds, the scrape of pestle against mortar, crunching seeds. The hiss of the calcinator's flame, the bubble of the distillery as it boiled just enough water for my few creations. But for once, I found no peace in them. None at all.

I had three formulas divided by several vials, by the time I was done. Two simply lethal, one pure paralyzation, leaving some poor soul helpless for whatever fate…

Whatever fate the poisoner had in mind.

Or would that be the contract maker?

So many hands, so many, all circling to close in a fist and extinguish a single life. I remembered the strange, many-times bloodied parchment, feeling the tiny grooves of hand upon hand upon bloody, forced hand beneath my own.

"Shit!" Muffled by the mask until I pulled it off, sliding my goggles up my brow and leaning back against the wall to drag a hand over my sweaty face. My other hand I held aloft, examining the singed little spot on the thumb of my glove where it had pressed on the still-burning belly of the calcinator. "Shit, shit_, shit_…"

"Unbecoming language, _chérie_."

"Mum." A lump in my throat that plummeted straight into my stomach. She smiled in the threshold, dressed now in day clothes. A small, but welcome relief. "… Ocheeva told me that soon, you'd be… be leaving."

"That's part of what I was taking care of today, yes. Finalizing the travel plans, as it were. But that's not all."

Two wrapped packages, in twine and paper. I frowned as she placed them on the table with a little smirk, waving at me. "Go on now, love, get all of that off."

I began to strip off the alchemical equipment – gloves first, my goggles, pulling the apron off over my head as maman unwrapped the first package for me. I eyed it while I undressed. "Maman. What am I going to _do _here? Just – be trapped underground with them, making their poisons, for the rest of my life? I – "

"We'll talk about that in a moment. Firstly – " She lifted up one of the bundles. Robes – a new green set of robes, like the ones I'd worn as an apprentice at the University. "Lucien kept his end of your silly little bargain, you'll be unhappy to hear."

I wrinkled my nose. "_Great." _The last thing I needed. "But, mum, I – "

"And secondly…" She offered me the second without unwrapping it, eyes crinkled. I eyed her with suspicion – she was hiding something. Happy about it, but hiding still, and dammit, did she even _care _that I was so scared? So angry about what little future lay before me? A huff and I began to unwrap it.

"Your birthday present."

I stopped mid-tear, looking up. "My...?"

"I'm not surprised you've forgotten, with everything going on, trapped underground here." She reached up to touch my cheek, smile soft. "We're a few days late, but I wanted to wait a bit."

Had it really been that long? The beginning of Hearthfire, when I'd been taken away, a week and some after the Emperor's death in Last Seed. And then those weeks of waiting, first for maman, then the meeting of the Black Hand…

It really had been. And here I was, facing the first day of the rest of my life in this dank, dreary place, making poisons. I sucked in a breath to hold back bitter tears, thinking of the University. The grounds, the ivory spires, the tapestries and hum of students, of Tar-Meena's smile and Bolor's laugh. The smell of the Lustratorium as Julienne purified frost salts, the warmth of being held against him…

The package came undone as I blinked back tears, a sigh escaping me. A little tremor of guilt, of gratitude grew even through my anger.

A dress, firstly. A classic Cyrodiilic style, open-topped with a bodice and light skirt all in shades of cream and chocolate. And atop the folded outfit a pair of gloves, soft deerhide engraved with spiraling vines and leaves, little bursts of flowers. Too delicate for more volatile alchemical work, but for general purpose… "Oh, _mum._ They're lovely."

"The dress is because I am tired of seeing my beautiful daughter hidden and swimming in oversized robes." That smirk again, what _was_ she thinking about? "Try on the gloves."

Carefully I put one on, and slipped my hand into the other. I frowned as something jingled, the palm of my hand finding something cold and hard inside the glove. "There's something inside it." With a furrowed brow I pulled it out, blinking at a small key. "What's this?"

Her smirk grew wider, whiskered. "It's a key. Used for locks."

I rolled my eyes, but giggled. "I mean what is it _for_."

"You'll find out. Get dressed, my dear. We're going into town."

I changed. It felt – strange, to be in something so normal. Not my usual University robes but something feminine and flowy and sitting in the right places, actually fitted for my form. Strange to actually feel cool air on my shoulders and bare arms, but not unpleasant. I pocketed the key and gloves before joining her, following in her wake and still trying to figure out her motives.

"Where exactly are we – "

"Ah, ah! I won't ruin the surprise."

A surprise in and of itself, really, to be going aboveground. And a relief. I hadn't been out since the rainy night of Gogron's death, too caught up in fear to really care about the possibilities. But to actually get to be in the city…

Wait. "Which city are we under, anyway? I didn't recognize anything in the dark, that night."

Mum glanced over her shoulder, smiling still. How was she so cheery? Was she really so pleased with this new life, becoming Speaker, leaving me alone here? But she'd just brought me such a lovely gift. I pursed my lips as she spoke. "Cheydinhal, near the Morrowind border. It's a lovely town_, mon chou._ I think you'll like it."

I had to swallow my laughter, bitter enough to make my stomach turn. Yes, certainly, I would when I could go aboveground. Wander and pretend I belonged, then go back to the damned Sanctuary night after night as a prisoner…

We stopped in front of the Black Door. I drew back, hesitant. "We're not going up through the well?"

"Not now, no. Too many people still around. We'll take the back door – a little less noticeable than the front, not quite as guilty looking as clambering out a well if we _are _noticed. Although there's not much to worry for, truthfully." A shudder clambered through me as she put a hand on the surface of the engraved door. A moment, a heartbeat throbbing in the air, and it began to creak agape.

"What do you mean, not much to worry for?"

"The Count of the city is in our pocket. We're still – _discreet,_ of course. No need nor wish to attract unnecessary attention. But we're able to operate a little more safely, because of it."

So. Even if I had run to the guards that night, I likely would have been turned away, ignored or silenced.

We left through the house atop the Sanctuary. A surprisingly normal looking place – mum commented, when I asked, that normal is what keeps attention away. That the home was registered in the name of one Miles Gaurrus, a traveling merchant who came and went from the city often – Lucien. The ease with which she discussed it reminded me of growing up, hearing her talk about business matters with Toltette…

Business. What had I said all those years ago, fleeing my engagement? I wouldn't be a part of it. So much for that wish.

But as we emerged from the back door and wound our way into the street, my anger, my resentment faded. The sun was only now beginning to dip, the sky turning a deeper blue, light tinted gold as it bled in beams through dappled trees and over tall timber homes. People – gods, it felt so good to hear real _people _again – laughing, talking, making their way home from the day's work as others headed to taverns and inns for a meal and a drink. Distantly, I could hear some musician playing a lute on the street, hear the calls of mothers getting children inside for supper.

It was good, and it hurt, and I didn't know if being up here was a gift or a curse for the thought of having to descend again. _Just – enjoy it._ I tilted up my head and inhaled deep the evening air, tasting of autumn. _Enjoy it while you can._

Our walk took us over stone bridges and rambling brooks through the city, mum hushing me whenever I tried to ask questions. Eventually I fell silent, content to soak in the sights, the sunlight. Only in a plaza near the chapel did we stall, her giving me that knowing smirk again.

"This way."

We approached one of the many homes – this one like the others, two-story and tall-roofed. A little weather vane creaked in the wind, an iron-wrought fence closing in a small backyard and ivy growing up the stone and siding. The windows looked a bit more faded and dirty, though, no lights flickering from within. I frowned, following behind as she walked up to the door and tried to open it, to no avail.

"Oh! Seems to be locked." There was _definitely _something in her voice now, mischievous and teasing and pleased. "Why don't you try that key of yours, hm?"

My suspicion only grew. I moved to the door myself, narrowing my eyes as the key slid in and clicked as it turned, smoothly proclaiming its match. Stepping into a quiet house – a few pieces of furniture with a thin film of dust, a long-cold hearth. Not so old as to be forgotten or falling apart but quiet, still. My shadow cast long with the light of the door behind me, joining with mum's as she followed in. "Mum – what is this place?"

A shuffle of papers behind me. I turned, meeting her quiet smile, her dark eyes as she held them out to me.

"Whatever you make of it, _mon chou."_

"What?" A tingle down my back. I took the papers, breath catching as I raced down the page. _This document states that the bearer, one Gabriel Anne Dust Toltette, is now the sole owner and possessor of the identified property…_

My breath shuddered out. Maman took my hands over the paper, and suddenly that knowing, pleased smile that curved her lips made sense. "Did you really think I would just leave you here, penniless, homeless? With nothing to your name?"

"_Maman!"_

I flung my arms around her as she laughed, embracing me, squeezing and sighing beside my ear. I laughed and cried in the same breath, shaking, blinking away tears as she grazed her fingers through my curls. "It's yours_, chérie_. Whatever you want to do with it. I've got a good chunk of gold set aside for essentials. Furnishings, clothes…"

"Mum, this is too much." I rubbed at my eyes, sniffling, giggling. "It must have cost a fortune."

"Consider it my attempt at paying my debts, as a mother." She stroked my cheek, brushing away rolling tears before nodding her chin at the papers in my hand. "Look at the next one. It's not so much part of the surprise, but I think it's important for you to see."

I shuffled through the sheaf to read the next, brow furrowing. _By signing above, the owner of the property hereby identifies as both a domicile and business and will thusly pay the taxes of both..._

It was without signature, without stamp, but full of meaning. Mum's smile was as watery as mine, and still more fragile. "I know it isn't what you'd planned, but… maybe it would suit you, hm? You could support yourself, work for yourself. You'd still be beholden to the Family, but it would give you something else, too. A purpose."

"A shop." My head raced. "I could run a _shop_, a, an alchemy – "

"That was my thinking, yes. My Family gave me my home and my purpose." Not regret, but remorse in her eyes. She wouldn't change what she'd done, wouldn't change her choices, but still she wanted to save me from the pain of them. "It seems only fair your family does the same for you."

A purpose. A life beyond what lay underground, beyond what had been demanded of me. In spite of everything that had been taken from me, ripped away, I could build a_ life_ here. I hugged her again as she chuckled, laying a kiss on my brow.

"It's your decision, of course. I just thought you deserved the choice. I talked it over with Lucien – so long as you deliver what they ask by the week, help their injured, you can live here. Sell your potions, heal like your father did. Be… not quite _free,_ but…"

But as free as I could hope for. For everything she'd done, for all she'd hurt me, I was alive because of her. I had a _reason_ to live, because of her. I couldn't hold her tight enough. She had to gently pry herself away, smiling and softly laughing all the while.

"I love you, mum."

"And I you, darling. Never forget that. Maybe you'd like to stay here for the night, hm? There's a bed, if not much else yet. But that just means more choices for you to make. You'll make this empty little house a beautiful home, just by being you."

Sleeping where I could hear the outside, smell fresh air, look out the window and see the moons and stars. Somewhere safe and quiet and _mine._ It sounded almost too good to be true, after everything. I wanted to pinch myself. I didn't dare, because if this was a dream I didn't want to wake up. "They'll allow it?"

"I've taken care of it. I'll drop by tomorrow, help you finalize a few plans before I leave on Tirdas. We should visit the carpenters' guild and commission some furniture, the blacksmith to make you some new alchemical supplies – but all that can wait. I should get back, or they'll be missing me."

"Thank you. _Thank_ you, maman."

"I'm only doing what's owed. I'll see you in the morning, dear, bright and early. So if you find forgotten wine in the cellar, you leave it alone, you understand?" A playful scolding. "And make sure you use that new key of yours to lock up." I grinned.

"I will. Tomorrow, then."

"Tomorrow."

I took it all in. Well, what little there was to see – mum hadn't lied about it being sparsely decorated. An old chair here, some forgotten crates there in a cobwebbed corner. The hearth was sorely in need of a good scrubbing – hell, _everything_ was –

But it was mine.

I slept that night in another strange bed, atop fresh sheets mum must have brought in, and with a window cracked to let in a stream of moonlight. For the first time in weeks, I fell asleep not surrounded by whispers and rumbling stone, but crickets and the creaks of my new home. For the first time in weeks, I slept not in fear of what the next day would bring…

But with a glimmer of hope.


	23. Chapter Twenty-Three

"New curtains, _dammit,_ I should have thought of that today. White lace, I think, then with sort of a nice, soft brown overlay for when I actually want to keep out the light…"

I hadn't stopped moving, not from the time I awoke until now, and I wouldn't have had it any other way. True to her word mum met me early and we spent the day taking care of everything, first meeting with the head carpenter and negotiating the price of good furniture, a counter for the entry room. I debated with the blacksmith over just how much work a cauldron deserved, and, thanks to maman, I had gold enough to make the deal go my way, earning the promise of a smooth, balanced piece.

I went from store to store, buying kitchen supplies, tools for gardening, food and drink and tableware and anything I could think of to make this house a home. For now, I was up on tip-toe, mimicking the work I'd done in the Sanctuary not long ago, using my broom to twist around and pull down those pale cobwebs in the high corners as mum busied herself listening to my chatter, making a list.

"Did I remember to buy seeds? Suppose it doesn't matter, with winter on the way it's not the time for – "

The door creaked open. I stiffened instinctively, finding myself oddly relieved to recognize the face in the threshold as Antoinetta, bearing a basket and a sunshine grin.

"Good _morning!_ I heard the good news and wanted to come see." She sashayed in, placing the basket on my little kitchen table. "And to bring a housewarming present, of course. Breton tradition, right?"

"I'm not sure we can claim that one exclusively, dear, but it's a good tradition nonetheless." Mum examined the basket as I craned over my shoulder to look, the smell of fresh rolls filling the house with a new sense of warmth. "These look delicious. You're ready for tomorrow, I trust?"

"Mhm! I mean – " Antoinetta seemed to remember her place then, going pink and giving a dip of her head. "_Yes,_ Speaker Abelle."

_Ignore it. Ignore it. Don't let that taint this, all of this good, all this hope. _I bit my tongue and turned back to my work, dragging the bristles along the ceiling and holding back sneezes at what fell. "You're – _epth!_" I sputtered and rubbed away the itch that had drifted down on my nose. "You're leaving together, then?"

"Antoinetta has work down in the Imperial City. My carriage will need to stop there, anyway. And I'm sure she'll be lovely company on the trip."

"Yes, ma'am." Another dip of the head as mom held back a smirk. Did she like being addressed like that? Did she tolerate only as a matter of respect between ranks? I lowered my broom, scrutinizing the corners with a nod.

"When are you both…"

"Early tomorrow morning."

_Don't think about it. Kvatch isn't that far, and you'll have your own home soon. She can come see you. You lived five years without her, before. You'll be fine. She'll be fine._

_She'll be happy, there. _And that – maybe that was what still hurt most. Knowing why she was going there and what she was going to become, and that she'd take joy in it.

"But what about you, hm, Dusty?" Antoinetta swept in from behind, prying the broom from my hand and grinning. "Take a _break _for a second, will you? I heard you're opening a shop!"

"That's the plan." Her smile was infectious. I grinned back, relinquishing it as she threw it to a corner.

"Sounds like fun! Got a name yet?"

"I do, actually." Mum glanced over in surprise. "I was thinking about it all day."

"Well, dear." She arched a brow. "Don't keep us in suspense!"

"I'm calling it _The Dusty Cauldron_." They exchanged a _look_ as I glanced at them. "What do you think?"

Antoinetta's nose wrinkled. Mum took a breath, the exact sort of sound I'd heard before when she was being delicate with me. "… Darling, wouldn't – wouldn't _'dusty' _make one think the cauldron wasn't used much?"

"It's not like about the cauldron being actually _dusty,_ it's just a silly little play on words!" I tried not to pout. "I like it, I think it's clever. Netta?"

She shrugged. "S'not going to be _my_ shop."

"You both have no sense of humour." I took my broom back up, not to sweep but to thwack it against the ground with one hand, down like a staff as I made my point. "It's a good name, and it's _my_ shop, and that's what I'm going to call it."

"You call it whatever you like, darling, as long as it makes you happy." It was mum's turn to take the broom from me again, this time without struggle before glancing over at Antoinetta. I'd never get my sweeping done, at this rate. "If you wouldn't mind, dear – I'd like a few moments alone with Dust."

"Of course – of course, Speaker." Another bow.

"Thank you for the rolls, Antoinetta. I'll – I'll see you when you come back, yes?" A wave and she was gone, the door creaking to a slow close behind her. "What is it?"

"I just thought we should – say our goodbyes now. I don't know that I'll have time in the morning, and given how early we're leaving…"

I'd known it was coming, of course, and braced myself for it. Tried to keep from letting the sinking feeling sink too low, from letting my feelings show. "I'm so grateful, mum. For everything."

"Just make the best of it, my love. Be happy. I wish you the very best of luck, even knowing you won't need it."

I wanted to wish her well in return. I wanted to. But knowing where she was going, what she was going to do, to be when she got there – I hid it all in a hug instead, kissing her brow as she often did mine. "I will, I promise. You'll come visit, won't you?"

"Whenever I have time. If you need anything at all, pass a letter to the Sanctuary and they'll get it to me. You'll be fine, _chérie_."

I'd felt this before. This sense of bittersweetness, this raw love and hope so delicate it felt like glass_. Fear_ and hope_. 'Make the best of it. You'll be fine.'_ Not the first time she'd said that to me.

Hopefully this time, it would stick.

"I know I will, mum." Another echo. I grinned at her, swallowing to keep tears at bay. "I'm yours, remember?"

"Damn right. And before I forget…" She pulled something from her belt, and I froze. Her dagger. Offering it forth with a small smile I couldn't read. "It tangled you in this, but perhaps it also saved your life. If you hadn't held it when Lucien had come…"

I'd be dead. She didn't need to say it. For all my mixed feelings, the blade still meant something to me. It had saved me then, and it had cut my ties with my old life when I was a girl. I accepted it, wrapping my fingers around the cool metal.

"I love you."

"And I you, Dust. Always."

I was alone when twilight fell. Alone, but not lonely. I would miss her, dearly. I missed my life at the Arcane University, everything I'd had to leave behind. I missed the certainty of the future I'd once held in mind.

But I let my mind wander to better things. What potions I could make and sell, what services I could offer the people here. I put on the fire and dragged a chair close, sat close enough to hear sparks pop and feel the delicious heat as the chill of evening settled.

_I can do this. I can be happy, here. Or at least I can try._

I was half-asleep when a knock on the door startled me. This time of night? Was it mum again?

I almost didn't recognize him. Not like this, dressed smartly in everyday clothes and a mannerly smile on his lips. It was only the glint in his eyes, the way he inclined his head that made it all rush back. "May I come in?"

The trade. The argument. My protests, and my proving him _wrong_ –

I felt my face flare red and turned, scoffing. "You say that like I have a choice. Come on, then."

"Not a very gracious hostess, pet."

"Forgive me, I hadn't had the chance to offer you_ tea_ yet. Give me a moment to keep up, won't you?" I was already bristling, covering up my annoyance and my embarrassment with a mocking sweetness. "Can I help you with something?"

"Just thought I'd come by to see how you're settling in." He surveyed the main room, shrugging off a short cloak misted with the fog settling in. "Abelle chose well enough. Pity it's near the chapel."

"I like where it's at. The bells sound lovely."

"You'll tire of them soon enough." More out of a need to keep busy I indeed poured us tea, offering a mug as he continued. "Your poisons were adequate, for our purposes."

A chill down my back. "They haven't been – _already_ – "

"No. But I did make a point of looking them over, and the formula is pure. I had – _concerns_ that you might try to undermine us, make something less than lethal with the fool idea of saving a life at the cost of your own."

I'd thought of it, but the idea hadn't lasted long. It would have been pointless rebellion. With or without my potions, the targets would die. And I wanted to live.

Even if it was as a coward.

I turned away from him again, letting my mug hit the table with a thump. A bitter, sour taste grew at the back of my mouth, making me grimace. I didn't need this. I didn't want my fresh start, my chance at freedom and making a life out of this, to be tainted by the reminder that…

That it wasn't really freedom at all. _Accept it._ I screwed up my brow and inhaled deep, fists uncurling_. This is the way it's going to be, and all you can do is make the best of it._

"Something the matter?"

I softened my tone now. "… What_ is_ a Speaker, Lucien? What do you do?"

He tilted his head. "What makes you ask this now, hm?"

"If I'm going to be – a part of this, even unwillingly, I need to know. Even if I don't want to know, and believe me I do _not," _A harsh syllable, withering into a sigh. "… I need to. I need to know everything, and when you told me before that I wasn't ready…" I made a face at his smile, even as polite as it was. "Don't look so smug. _Yes,_ you were right."

"But now you are. You've given your blood and service, your word to the Brotherhood. Your work will lead to the deaths of innocents, in exchange for your own life."

I wanted to argue, the same reasoning I'd been trying to ply on myself. _They'd die, anyway. At least sometimes, I can make it painless. I can make it quick._

I didn't. I picked up my mug again, wrapping my hands around it and holding tight. "… So you'll tell me, now?"

He did.

The strangest thing, to have this man sitting in my new home, sipping my tea and telling me, in that low, silky rumble, everything I didn't want to know. Hands folded, features shadowed and flickering in the firelight as he explained.

Sithis. The Dread Father. Not some horrific daedra or lord over death as I'd pictured, but the ruler of emptiness. Vast, endless expanse, yearning, hungry, blank and yet filled with the potential of endless chaos. A being beyond understanding.

And yet, he had a bride. Lucien spoke of the Night Mother in such gentle tones, expression distant, but _loving_. When he spoke of her embrace it wasn't with the grand, booming voice of a priest spouting glory of the Nines, but something quiet and deep and intimate.

More businesslike then, his explanation of the Dark Brotherhood's structure, and indeed, the apt metaphor of the Black Hand. Four fingers, and a thumb. Four Speakers, and a Listener.

I kept silent, only moving to refill our tea when it grew cold. I let out a sigh when he'd finished, letting my shoulders slump.

"I understand how – how someone could find some sort of sense of purpose, in this. All of this. The business end and the – the side of belief. How someone could find family in it." And for people like my mother, orphaned and alone and angry…

How sweet, the Night Mother's accepting embrace must have seemed.

"Someone. But not you."

I laughed without humour. "No. Not for me."

"No? And this is?" A line of amusement, contempt grew between his mouth and cheek. "A pretty little house with a copper kettle and tea on the hearth, a husband and children? And here I'd hoped perhaps you might be_ interesting_."

I scowled. "You don't know a damn thing about what I want."

"I think you made what you want quite clear the other night, _pet_."

My face turned red again. I made a point of not meeting his gaze as I took his empty mug, primly putting it with mine back on the table. "Will that be all, Lucien?"

"For now. You will receive your orders for new potions and poisons by Fredas." He stood, shrugging his cloak back on as I walked him to the door. "Ah, and one more thing."

"Yes?"

He turned on me, so quick I nearly lost my balance in recoiling. Not angry, not attacking, but all my memories of the night we met flooded in and I hated myself for the whimper I gave as he caught my chin, as he stared intently into my eyes for a long moment.

"You are free of the Sanctuary, but not of us. We are watching. Should any secrets reach unwanted ears, it will be likely not only you but your _mother _who suffers the consequences, and everything you are beginning to build will come crumbling down. But if you are obedient, and discreet…"

"Believe me, I am _painfully _aware of my servitude." Did he feel the tremble of my jaw in his hand? How much I wanted to spit and snarl? But it wasn't with anger or disdain he spoke, not the way Ocheeva had.

"It's for your own good to keep that in mind, pet." I pulled back the moment he released me, running my hand over the tingling spots the contact left. Then the smirk returned. "I'll be sure to come and see your little shop, once you've set to business."

"Don't trouble yourself on my account."

I slammed the door behind him and fell against it, swallowing a deep breath and digging my fingers into the wood_. No. No, don't let them ruin this. You're going to be fine._

_I'll make the best of this. I can do that – I know I can._


	24. Chapter Twenty-Four

It was almost achingly sweet, the contrast.

After weeks spent underground, locked in, I could finally go where I pleased. I could finally be out and feel the sun on my skin, hear people laughing, arguing, bartering again. I could talk to people whenever I wanted and not be shooed away, not be given looks of confusion or contempt. I wouldn't struggle in vain to keep busy.

And I wasn't _waiting_ anymore. There was nothing left to wait for, not when my tools finally arrived and my form to the Census Office was stamped. As soon as I was ready, they told me, I could open shop.

I wasted no time. Potions first, of course – what was an alchemist without potions to sell? For healing colds, ataxia, pox, all the common illnesses around this time of year. For combating poison, for strengthening the body and keeping fatigue at bay, yes, those would sell well to the Fighters' Guild. And for the local farmers, a special formula to keep rats out of the silos, night-eye potions for the late shift guards…

And my aphrodisiac, of course. It was hard working through that, the sweet, heady fumes bringing with them Bolor's voice, his whispers, memories of his touch. And with him, thoughts of Tar-Meena. Of the University.

I couldn't go back to that. Didn't even dare risk writing to Tar-Meena, telling her I was alive, I was safe. How could I explain my supposed 'running away?' She was smart. She would suspect, and that could only lead to disaster. Better to keep it separate, no matter how it hurt. Better to keep her uninvolved. Better to start over, and keep busy.

It wasn't a difficult task anymore. The idea of having time to waste quickly became foreign, and I delighted in that. And as the weeks passed, little additions – a wreath here, a painting there, lacy curtains blowing in the open breeze – my little house became a home.

It was on Sundas I decided to go to the chapel.

It was almost an unconscious decision. By tradition, all shops closed business on Sundas, giving me a welcome day of rest after the busy weeks I'd dived headfirst into, a day of quiet. I was wandering around the plaza, thinking of visiting the book shop as I had on lazy days in the Imperial City, when the bells rang out and people spilled from the great doors into the streets.

I twined my way through the crowd, skirting along the edges when I could as I caught whispers, murmurs of affirmation, the hush from the chapel following them out into the day until they all began to part. And then, alone, I stepped inside.

For a moment it felt like stepping back into my childhood. Just for a moment. The echo of my feet against stone in the grand hall, the dust motes floating over me in faint, beautiful spectrum from the tall stained glass windows. The scent, especially. Old books, older stonework, candles and something I couldn't quite place.

"Miss?"

I looked up, quite a ways, to meet a smile. A Nordic man, giving a little bow and smiling kindly. "Can I help you? Y'look a bit lost, is all. Service is over, but you're welcome t'talk to the Primate?"

"Oh – oh, no, that's alright. I just…" The air tasted of time past as I inhaled. "I saw the doors were open and things would be quiet, and it – it's been a long time since I was in a chapel."

"Well, it's never too late to come back into the fold. Welcome to the Chapel of Arkay."

Arkay. God of funerary rites, of the mourning, of the dead and the wheel of life, always spinning. Was it irony that had led me here, or had I wanted to see the other face of death? Not the hungry, strange being Lucien spoke of, but something so many in Tamriel sent their prayers to?

"Thank you. Is it alright if I…?"

"By all means." He gestured with a tree-trunk arm towards the end of the hall past the pews, where the altar sat.

Hands on hewn stone, the subtle scent and hum of magic raising hairs on my neck. I didn't reach into the basin to bless myself. Hadn't, not since papa had passed, and even now the thought made me smile in a twist. _Me_, who'd loved a necromancer. Me, who was the daughter of a murderer that would steal souls from this god's designs.

_I shouldn't have come here._ I pushed myself up and away, shaking off a shiver. _I don't belong, now more than ever._

"I've done everything I can."

My ears perked, drawn to the low murmur in the shadows. Two women, beside one of the smaller altars beneath the stained glass. The taller, an Altmer woman, gave a soft sigh and continued. "He's resting now."

"May I see him?"

"I'm sorry, but I think it's for the best we wait. He's very confused, very angry."

_Rude to eavesdrop_ came the echo, but I did anyway. I sidled closer to one of the pillars to rest against it, tilting my head to catch the conversation behind.

"I've never seen him like this. He's an artist, he's_ always_ been moody, but not like this." The other woman's voice broke. A diminutive Dunmer, hugging herself tight. I felt a pang of sympathy. "Ever since…"

"Since what?" The Altmer was gentle, but probing. I'd heard that tone before, well-meant concern. "Please, anything you can tell us…"

But she only shook her head. "Just that he's – dived into his work, more than before. I – I'll come by in the evening, then. Please, if anything changes…"

"You'll be the first to know, Tivela, I promise."

She left then, the little hitches of stifled sobs making me wince. A family member? They had to be ill indeed, to be kept here. Then the Altmer woman stepped out, and I'd spoken before I'd realized it.

"Excuse me?"

She turned, surprised by me as I was at myself. _What are you doing?_

_What papa would have done._

"Yes?" A blink. Her face was soft and delicate, golden hair piled high. A moment and she seemed to gather herself, smiling sweetly. "I am Ohtesse, the Healer of this chapel. Blessings of Arkay upon you, child. Did you need assistance?"

I tried not to grimace at her blessing, half-thinking it might somehow reverse on someone like me. But then, I'd touched the altar and hadn't heard any thunder. _Yet_. "Actually, I – I'm sorry, I overheard you talking. About the man here? And I thought – I'm only an apprenticed healer, but I'm an alchemist. Maybe I could help? Somehow?"

_You're an idiot. You're just wishing you were papa, trying to fill his shoes because you feel guilty. She'll probably just say –_

"We can use any help we can get, if you're a healer." Her whole face – the dark bags under her eyes, the lines of exhaustion – lifted up with relief.

_Oh. Well._

_Alright, then._

She led me down towards the chapel stairs beneath the main hall. A familiar stance, a familiar face. Happy with her work, relentless in her determination, but tired and overwhelmed by the sheer endlessness of it.

And this was a healthy, wealthy city. I could only imagine how papa must have felt. He believed he had to save that place, maman said.

_I can't save anything, not like he did. But maybe I can make a little difference. Make up for what I have to do to survive._

Silent down here, in the halls beneath. She guided me down a dim, candle-lit hall towards one of many smaller rooms, separated by others with a small curtain. Again, I could think only of home, of my father. So many sick that we used the tomb slabs as beds.

Not here. The patient's room as small, yes, but pleasant enough – except for the man residing in it. The Altmer woman let out a gasp as feathers flew, as he dug his teeth into his pillow and tore it apart with animal snarls.

"Rythe! Oh, Mister Lythandas_, please_ – "

_Ohh, this was a mistake._

I held back as she flew to his side, a spell on her hands – something to calm him, subdue him. He groaned and slumped some, and only then did I dare approach. "What's – _wrong_ with him?"

"We don't know, I'm afraid. That's just the problem. Shh, _shhh_." Soothing murmurs as the Dunmer man grumbled, shaking his head. _Gods,_ he looked tired, drawn in like he hadn't slept in days. "I've been keeping him calm when I can, searching his body for – _anything_, but we've found no sign. No pustules of Blood or Brown Rot, no infected wound or Greenspore…"

"How long has he been like this_?__" For Talos' sake, Dust, make yourself useful._ I began to gather up the fallen feathers as she laid Rythe back on the bed where he rolled his head, listless.

"Three days, since his wife brought him here. He's been sleepless, and acting more and more confused and aggressive. Ranting, and he stumbles and staggers as he walks. Tivela insists he's done nothing strange, taken no blows to the head, eaten no strange herb…"

"Gedoff!" Weakly he fought the healer, trying to push her away with uncoordinated movements. "My wife, where – _gods,_ I'm so tired, let me sleep, let me _sleep_…"

"Maybe a sleeping draught?"

"They help him for a while, but he just wakes like this again." Ohtesse stood when Rythe finally seemed to settle some, stretching out her shoulders. She wouldn't show her frustration, her exhaustion, but still it hung palpable in the air. "Truly, I… I don't know what to do."

"Shouldn't've done it, is all!" He was rambling again, giggling, then cringing as though it hurt to do so. "Didn't mean to, but no_, had_ to dive in head-first, head-first into my painting like a true artist, I couldn't let my work be ruined, couldn't let them steal my gift nono, _no_…"

"He keeps saying that. Tivela said he'd been deeply involved in his art, more than usual with the Autumn Festival coming. They're planning to open a stall and sell more of his work, little paintings for the children." A sad flicker of a smile. "I fear that won't be happening, now."

Something niggled, an itch at the back of my mind. I frowned as he began again, lolling back and forth like he'd gone mad. What was _wrong_ with him? "Right in! I got out, I got rescued but, but, I don't know, it came _with_ me, trapped, trapped, in my own _painting_…"

Wait.

_An artist. Painting._

Like clockwork the gears in my head began to turn, one clicking the other and the other the next until everything came into understanding like a candle coming alight. "He's not ranting. He's _right."_

A frown from Ohtesse, gathering up the feathers I'd missed. "I don't understand."

"I mean – yes, he _is_ ranting, but he's still right. He's a painter, yes? And his wife said he's been more involved, working more than usual?"

"Yes, but…"

"They told us about this, in my alchemy classes." I knelt beside him now, pushing past all shyness and propriety as I took his face in my hand, looked at his eyes. Yes – _yes,_ those strangely shrunken pupils, the sheen of sweat… "It's common, in alchemists, though we've mostly learned to avoid it. Solvent poisoning. If he's been locked in a room with his paints more than usual, inhaling the fumes…" A tingle, the triumphant, sweet reward of a puzzle solved. "It makes sense, doesn't it?"

"I never would have even thought." A little laugh from Ohtesse, eyes wide, a hand over her mouth as she too began to beam. "I – my work is in typical diseases, injuries. I wouldn't have recognized… is there a cure?"

"There is, and better still, I have it at my house." Still strange to say that phrase, 'my house', but I was too excited to care as I sprung up to my feet again. "Every good alchemist does, just in case. I'll run, I – I can be back in just a few minutes. Can you keep him calm, keep him from hurting himself?"

"Of course. Please, if you truly believe this is the cure for his illness – please, _go_."

I ran, my feet all the faster for pride. I was right, I_ knew_ I was and I could actually truly help. Mum was right. I could do this. I could make a life here, be happy here, and even for my ties I could –

There was someone in my shop.

I skidded to a stop. My door was ajar. Why – I hadn't left it, had I? No, I wouldn't have, surely. I'd been so careful. And shops were closed for the day. Why would anyone…?

I well knew the answer. I drew a breath, steeled myself and walked in.

"There you are." Telaendril. I closed the door behind me as I entered, narrowing my eyes. Strange to see her outside of her usual armour, like the rest of her family. But then, I hadn't seen her since –

Since the night Gogron died.

"Did you have a nice time, visiting the Chapel?"

I shivered under the ice of her gaze, forcing myself to walk up to the counter beside her. Despite her stare, her voice was soft. Unpredictable, and just seeing her, remembering those little, wracking sobs she'd made…

"It would be polite to answer."

"Oh! I – yes. I just, I wanted to look around."

"You seemed in a hurry. Is everything alright?" Her head tilted as she spoke, like she was nothing more than a concerned neighbor dropping in. I frowned back.

"How on Nirn did you manage to see me and still get back here – "

"I know this city, its alleys and hidden paths, like the back of my hand. I was told to keep an eye on you on my daily rounds, and I will do so. Now, tell me the truth." Her arms crossed, her voice never raising a hair above polite. "What's going on?"

_Fine._ "… I went to the chapel just – just to look, that is the truth. But there was a sick man there, and I think I can help him. I can try."

Something flashed in her eyes, unsaid. I knew we were both thinking the same thing. Remembering that night, the massive Orc bloodless and limp atop that little bed.

"Very well." And it was gone as though it had never been there at all, blank and cool again. "Though if you continue to operate on charity, I doubt you'll end up any different than your father."

I stiffened. Part of me, angry. Part… "You knew him?"

"Very briefly, when he first met Abelle. He, too, had a sense of duty to others. To the weak. It was very sweet, and very foolish, and it led him to his death." Sharp, sharp as the end of an arrow her words became as she leaned in close. "Your mother is far more sensible. You would be wise to try and take more after _her_."

Mother. Sweet and loyal and generous to her family, to her own. But anyone outside that, she was cold. No qualms in taking advantage of the foolish or ignorant in her business, and even for all her guilt over what I'd gone through in the echo of her life, I knew she felt pride in what she was, what she did.

I swallowed a lump in my throat. "I'm not my father, or my mother. I need to get the potion and go. Please, leave."

A bow of her head and she made for the door. Anger and guilt battled for dominance in me, and as she reached the threshold…

"Telaendril?"

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry. About Gogron."

Was there a tremor at his name? A little intake of breath, a hitch of her shoulders? I couldn't tell. She stood still for a long moment, then turned and left, taking my breath with her as I let out a long sigh.

Did she hate me? Or did she, as the others had, accept his death as an inevitability in a life so filled with it?

Death. Arkay. I couldn't save Gogron, but there was someone waiting for me, now, that maybe I could help. I could serve the Brotherhood as my mother had. I could help those in need, like papa.

I didn't have to_ be_ either.

"I can't even begin to thank you enough."

In the end, it had been a long day. My cure for the solvent poisoning took hours to really finish its work, leaving the poor man exhausted, confused, but at least no longer ranting. Ohtesse and I took turns keeping him calm when he became agitated again, took turns soothing the dizziness and nausea that had him curling up in a ball and clutching at his stomach, Dunmeri curses leaving him in strings.

But it was worth it. A laugh squeezed out of me as Tivela hugged me tighter still, Ohtesse watching with a wide smile, her husband sitting on the bed looking sheepish.

"It really was nothing, just – "

"You don't understand. I almost lost my husband recently, and when the sickness started – I'd just gotten him back. I was so scared I was going to lose him _again_…"

"There now, dear." He shakily stood as she parted from me, sniffling, grinning. I mirrored it, unable to hide my pleasure, my pride. "My work caught me up again, but now I know better than ever to be cautious."

"Frequent breaks for fresh air, a cracked window and perhaps an alchemist's mask should be enough to keep you safe." It felt – strange, to be dispensing healing advice like this. Strange, but good. Like I was finally reaching where I would have been at the University, educating. "And if you begin to feel ill again, please, drop by my shop."

"Gladly, muthsera. _Thank_ you, again."

"We're so grateful." Tivela's voice cracked, watery as her eyes glimmered. I had to wipe at my own eyes as they embraced, resisting the urge to sniffle.

"You'll be coming to the Autumn Festival, won't you? A free painting! Any one you like, my dear. They're small, but – "

"That would be lovely. Please, be well."

A tangible sense of relief as they left, as the room fell quiet again between the healer and I. She met my gaze with a gentle smile, a murmur.

"What are the chances? That you were in the chapel, that you heard me. That you _knew._ You were sent by Arkay, my child, I'm sure of it."

"I…" A little laugh. "I don't know about that, but… thank you."

"Hil said you looked lost, when you came into the chapel. Was it your first time in a while?"

I faltered. I liked this woman, already. We'd known each other briefly, but she was kind and good-hearted, and reminded me so much of… "My father was a healer, for Stendarr. He died when I was small, and after that my family never really…" Dammit. I blinked back tears, feeling a blush creep on my cheeks.

"Then perhaps it was him that guided you now, from beyond Aetherius. In this place of all places, perhaps those gone can reach out to us who yet live." A tingle down my back as she reached out to touch me, a hand on my shoulder.

"Walk in faith, child."

Faith.

Papa had faith. A sense of duty, of charity, and it was as Telaendril had said – it landed him in a shallow grave if he was given even that, poor and forgotten. No answer from his beloved god of mercy. Maman had her Family, her work, her purpose through her faith, but others suffered for it.

I smiled to myself, warming my toes by the low-burning fire, sipping a tea before bed_. I did good._ A small, but steady warmth like a little hearth in my chest all aglow_. I did the right thing._

If nothing else, maybe I could have some faith in myself.


	25. Chapter Twenty-Five

Green grounds. Dewy petals. The heavy, perfumed scent of the alchemy garden, almost embracing me in spring's arms. No, it wasn't the arms of spring – warmer still and firm around me, lips trailing past my ear, down my neck as I bit back my giggles of delight.

"Thesis presentation tomorrow, mm? Could be what sends you to apprentice for Julienne. Are you nervous?"

"No." I kept my voice low, trying not to sigh too loud at the graze of his fingertips or the tickle of grass. Just outside the hedges were footsteps, passing so close. _Oh,_ if we were found out…

But he kissed me anyway, and it was hard to worry about anything here in this little hiding spot we'd made, so secret and perfect. _Especially_ hard to worry when he kissed my neck like that. "I'll worry later, anyway. Not – _mn _– not right now..."

"Should focus on celebrating, hm? You'll impress them. You're creative. You certainly did _me_, with this torrid little idea…"

"_Shhh!_ Not so loud!"

"Lay back down. I want to see if you can keep as quiet as you think…"

Any night before I'd have woken from a dream like that grinning, flushed and pleasantly dazed. Rolling over to nestle in closer to Bolor, drifting back off contented…

But not tonight.

I blinked away tears, catching my breath and hugging myself tight when I sat up in the dark. Just a dream. Except it wasn't, was it? It was so much more than a dream, or even a memory…

It was loss.

_Make the best of it._ I'd felt so warm, when maman gave me the papers to my home. So happy setting up shop, and helping the painter had practically made me glow. Trying, _gods,_ trying to cling to that warmth and relief and gratitude, that things weren't as bad as they could have been. I had my life. I had my shop, a purpose. I had a chance.

But I'd lost so much, too. So much I could never get back. Bolor – even knowing what he'd done thinking of him hurt, made me remember not his crimes, but his kindness. His patience with my rambling ideas, his guidance when I struggled. His grin, amused and proud when I gained the courage not to be courted but to tease and flirt right back. The time Tar-Meena had helped me surprise him with wine and a picnic and left me to try and fail to seduce him with the lute, him snickering at being 'wooed like a Breton maiden…'

And Tar-Meena herself. Gods, we'd spend hours talking about books when we could, laughing over our differences in opinion. She stuck by me, celebrated my victories, mourned with me in failure and disappointment. She was always so supportive, and never failed to go to festivals with me when I begged, even though she hated crowds.

The university itself, my studies. My home and my purpose. All stolen from me so quickly, I'd hardly had time to grieve.

_Okay. Breathe – get up._ I forced myself out of bed, wincing as my toes hit cold wood. _This is your life now._ I was lucky not to be starting from nothing, imprisoned in the Sanctuary and trying to make a living. Lucky to be living at all. _I just need a drink._ _A cold drink, and I'll sleep fine again, and I can…_

I couldn't always delight in this. It hurt. It couldn't _not _hurt. But I had to at least try.

I tip-toed down the stairs, swallowing a yawn. It truly could be so much worse. Here I had a place to call my own, a life to live even if it was bound by the Brotherhood. I could help people, work on my studies in my own way. I'd already started a new notebook on water purification, another with scribbled ideas to try…

I bit back a bitter pang, wrestled the resentment down. This was it. There was no point fighting it. And at least – though it ached to think it – at least they made it look like I'd run. There'd be no one looking, and Tar-Meena…

She might hate me. But at least she wouldn't grieve me.

Maybe that was enough. I got my water and stumbled back to bed.

I hadn't been asleep half an hour when I was woken again. Not from my old life, but to my new reality.

"Get up."

I nearly screamed, nearly. Jolting out of my new bed at the shake of a cold hand on my arm, gripping tight, at glowing yellow eyes in the dark. M'raaj Dar, the Khajiit mage from the Sanctuary. I sucked in a breath, heart fluttering, untangling myself from the bed. "What? What's happened?"

"It's Teinaava, he's wounded. _Hurry,_ idiot."

No time to change, barely enough time to throw a cloak over my nightdress and stick my bare feet in shoes. I was still groggy, thinking myself half-dreaming until we made way into the depths of the Sanctuary. The scent of blood woke me properly.

"There you are." Vicente, sitting by Teinaava's side as Ocheeva stood. A flicker of relief at his calm nod, reaching for a cloth to wipe his hands. It was bad, but not deadly. "Thank you for coming."

"Of – of course." I hardly had a choice in the matter, did I? But any irritation vanished at the Argonian's pained hiss, laying belly down on the bed with claws digging into the sheets. From his lower back jutted the shaft of an arrow, embedded deep. I winced in sympathy. "What happened?"

"He was on contract when an unknown assailant attacked. When he turned to fight, the coward ran." It was Ocheeva who answered, brisk and tight. "He traveled back here on foot."

"… The traitor?"

Vicente shook his head. "I do not believe so. The traitor has always attacked with a blade, never by bow. Likely a highwayman who realized he had bitten off more than he could chew, as it were." Teinaava groaned and his sister stiffened, nares flaring.

"Sithis' sake, whatever you're going to do, do it _quickly_."

I managed not to flinch. The wound wasn't lethal, thank gods – if I did this right, he would heal. But already, I felt my hands shake.

These were assassins. Murderers, who would kill with hardly a thought. The night with the Orc, still and bloodless, flickered in memory. I'd had no choice, then, no chance to save him even though I'd wanted to. But now - if I made a mistake, if I did this _wrong_…

_Focus. Breathe and focus, Dust. Just another patient, that's all._

Raw flesh had swollen around the embedded shaft. It was almost certainly infected, then. I glanced at Vicente as I sat, all grogginess dissolving. My thoughts felt clearer, crystallizing, systematic. An exam at the University, practicing on injured guards to learn the Healing arts. _That's it, focus_. "Any breathing troubles?"

"No. Thankfully, it appears to have fallen short of the lung."

Thank gods. Or should I thank _his_ god? "…I'll need a wire and forceps. And my potions, from the laboratory – one for pain, one for stemming infection. Linens, water. Vicente, could you - "

A polite nod and he was gone, leaving me alone with the siblings. The air felt tight, tense and suffocating with Teinaava's pained hisses and Ocheeva's looming presence. Twins – not just by Brotherhood but by birth, Antoinetta had told me. A realization steadied my hands with a flicker of sympathy. _She_ was scared, too. Scared for him.

"You both joined quite young, yes?" I began cleaning the site of the wound, trying to keep my voice as light as I could under the weight of the room. An incredulous silence. Ocheeva answered, eyes narrowed.

"… Yes."

"From Black Marsh, then? You came a long way."

"… My eggmate lays here wounded and you make _inane _conversation?" I could almost hear the venom in her voice, seething and bubbling. "Are you _mad_?"

"Conversation will help distract him from the pain, and help keep him awake until I'm certain it's safe for him to take something." It was the truth. It would keep _me_ from panicking, too. As stupid as it always felt, it was something my mentor had taught me in the University, and…

And something papa had always done. Asking his patients about their day, their week. About their families and their pasts. Anything to keep them talking and focused on something other than the pain.

As gently as I could I fingered the nock of the arrow, feeling the tension push back. Yes, it had hit bone – glanced off into a rib, maybe. Even as carefully as I moved it, he hissed. I wanted to soothe him sooner, but I'd need every ounce of my magicka to get the arrow out and the wound healed. That took precedence.

"Please. It'll help, I swear."

A beat. Ocheeva sucked in a breath through jagged teeth. "… We were offered to the Brotherhood as hatchlings."

"Shadowscales." Teinaava spoke next, giving a rasping laugh, then a grunt. "Ngh – not that _you_ would know what that means…"

Vicente returned soundlessly, offering me the tools I asked for with a quiet nod before sitting down nearby. First the analgesic, encouraging him to drink and empty the bottle. Then a deep breath and I began my work in earnest, sliding the forceps into the wound. "Tell me about them – you. Shadowscales. It'll keep your mind busy."

He did. Explaining as I worked how he and Ocheeva had been born for this life, in their heritage and the stars that presided over their hatching. How they'd trained under Lucien so young, and saw him as a father figure – I had to bite back a scoff at that. And as he spoke, I worked. Carefully pulling back torn flesh to free the barbed arrowhead, lacing the wire tight around the shaft to finally pull it free. Washing the wound with clean water and my disinfectant, coaxing flesh to flesh as best I could to shrink the gaping hole where the arrow had buried.

In truth I only half heard them, but it was more what I _felt _from them that changed. The air grew lighter, tension dissipating as they shared laughter at old memories of their childhood, their training.

It was an assassin I was healing, an assassin watching my every move. But it was also a sister, watching over her injured brother.

I smoothed down the last of the bandages. Teinaava's breathing had grown slower, steadier as my last potion took him, lulling him into the deep sleep his body dearly needed. I took a deep breath of my own and stood.

Ocheeva met my eyes, expressionless. I mustered a smile. "He'll be fine. He'll need rest and his bandages changed in a day or two, but he'll be fine. Just send for me if the bandages start to yellow or anything seems off."

A moment, two. Finally Ocheeva seemed satisfied, nodding and raising her chin. "Very well. You may go."

I smiled, gathered myself, slung on my cloak. I was nearly at the well ladder, nearly out, when it all collided into me. The emotion of the night, the fear, the relief, the exhaustion crashing hard enough to make me clutch the stone wall for support.

_I'm healing assassins. I'm working for assassins. I'm okay, it's okay, I did what I had to, they're twins, they're family, they're murderers _– A jumble of thoughts, only interrupted by a gentle hand on my shoulder making me gasp.

"Dust."

My heart leapt into my throat. I turned slowly to meet Ocheeva's golden eyes, narrowed into slits as she examined me like prey. What happened? Had I done something wrong? "Oche – ma'am?"

A slow blink. She pulled back and inhaled, proud and quiet, a leader. Thinking on it – from what Teinaava had said, she couldn't have been much older than me. But she held herself straight and strong, seeming older than her years. "Thank you."

My mouth went dry. I pursed my lips, swallowed hard before dredging up an answer. "I… of course. You're welcome."

A nod of dismissal. She turned on her heel, tail swinging behind her, leaving me staring after until I came back to my senses. Enough to ascend the well and make my way home through the dark.

There was none of the confidence I'd felt after helping the painter. Only doubt and confusion, knowing I could have done nothing else and yet…

Papa took all comers, when I was a girl. Many in the village stole to get by. Assaulted others. Drunken fights, desperate squabbles over food. He never picked sides. He never hesitated. Everyone deserved his help.

What would he have thought of this?

_Let it go. It doesn't matter, the why._ I stripped off my nightdress, soiled now with blood, and changed to crawl into bed. _You did what you had to, to survive. You did what you thought was right._

It was easy to trust in myself when there _was_ no question, wasn't it? Easy to push away doubt and fear then, ignore everything I'd lost. But now…

_Have faith._


	26. Chapter Twenty-Six

My favourite season had always been autumn. Such a dazzling time back at the University – back home, though more and more that word had changed for me. Instead of images of the Arboretum turning crisp and gold came those of the towering firs, thick and green, thrusting up from the orange-red forest blanketing the base of the mountains. Instead of stone walls and tiny, ornate glass windows, I thought of timber and white-washed planks, releasing that delicious piney smell in the afternoon's warmth.

And instead of green hills and sparkling lakes, there was this. The brush outside Cheydinhal, thinning the higher the mountains climbed North, but, down here, dark and thick enough to hide plenty of little treasures. A basket slung around my shoulder I knelt, letting my fingers sink into loamy earth. Cool, wet and enveloping, encouraging as I carefully angled them to slide under the tendrils of the mushroom, coaxing it out clean.

It was – nice. As much as I'd craved to keep busy during my imprisonment, as much as I enjoyed the city and my new work, it was nice to be doing something so simple, so natural to me.

Though this was less for work and more for pleasure. I'd found a few good reagents to play with, but mostly I scavenged now for edible mushrooms. With the truly cold weather closing in, the thought of a hearty beef and mushroom stew sounded perfect.

Besides, I'd needed to get out of town, away from my thoughts for a while. I'd dreamed of Bolor and the University again, the night before. It hurt less and less as time went on, but with the hurt clearing came room for questions I'd never dared broach before.

He'd sent the Brotherhood after me. He must have – who else? Whether out of hate or hurt or just to clean up loose ends, he would have had me dead. I _would_ be dead, if not for maman's dagger. Confusion muddled the sense of betrayal as I stood, dusting off my skirts.

Lucien had mentioned a contact of theirs at the University, passing on information about me as their unexpected 'guest.' And what he had said – 'a favour for a friend'. My death hadn't been sanctified by the Night Mother. What did that _mean?_

I'd asked Antoinetta to tell me when Lucien was next by, as much as I'd rather have avoided him after our last encounter. If anyone would have answers, it would be him. But until he came back I had only questions and, just for a while, I needed to get away from them.

Just for a while.

It wasn't long before my basket was almost full, certainly enough for a hearty stew, with leftovers besides. I knelt beside another fir, searching the base. They had a synergy, these fungi with these trees, always close together. Reaching at a glimpse of velvety brown –

Except it wasn't a mushroom curled up there. A hare, terrified and stalk still, staring up at me with bright eyes. I caught my breath, lowered myself slowly.

"Hello."

It shrank. Poor thing – I must have snuck up on its hiding spot without even realizing. Not that it could hide like this much longer. Already I could see spots of white on the rusty brown fur, heralding the coming winter. But what a little delight. I cooed, tilting my head and daring a single finger over its shivering back.

"It's okay, I'm not here to hurt you."

"I should certainly _hope_ not."

A voice behind me. I jerked up and in a flash the hare was gone, bolting off to some burrow under the fallen leaves. I shot a glare over my shoulder and turned with a sigh.

"You scared it off."

"My apologies." He appraised me for a moment, gaze moving to the basket I held. "But you've been asking after me, I hear. I thought I could use the walk. Reagents?"

"Some. Mostly just Pig's Ear, for supper."

"Mmn." A stiff, polite smile, crooked at the side. "What did you want?"

At least he was right to business. I sighed, shrugging my shawl a little closer before walking at his side, back through the wood. "…What can you tell me about – about the night you came for me?"

An arched brow. "You don't remember?"

"I'd be hard-pressed to forget. I mean the _why._ You said I wasn't a proper contract. What did you mean?"

An incline of his head. "Contracts come from two sources. The most rewarding, directly from the Night Mother herself. She whispers to our Listener, who passes tasks amongst us. Of course, we are a business. We will take other contracts, make other deals, so long as blood is spilt. Yours was one such."

I swallowed hard, trying not to let his businesslike tone unnerve me. "… With a Dunmer, named Bolor."

"Truthfully, I don't know the details." A shrug. "A colleague asked me to deal with you while I was on my own business in the Imperial City. The contractee wanted you dead, and your body returned to him."

My body. _Gods._ My throat closed tight, a hand moving to my chest. I wrung the clasp of my shawl, a clammy shudder creeping through me. He – _gods_, he would have, what he'd done to that poor woman, would I have been next –

I spoke, barely audible above the crunching leaves under our boots. "… He was a necromancer. My mentor." My lover, my friend.

"I must assume your necromancer was a friend of my colleague, and he asked me to take care of it since I was nearby." A flash of a smirk. "Nothing personal, pet."

I scoffed, but my attention was elsewhere. Still reeling from it all, squeezing my eyes shut to push back my tears. It just confirmed what I'd already suspected, of course. I had my answers. Still, it _hurt_. And the thought of leaving the comfort of my task out here, going back home where all I could do was think on it alone…

I kept stride beside him, trying to fill the silence. "… How is Teinaava healing?"

"Very well. Thank you for that." A more somber look now, brief but genuine. A mixture of feelings in me as I shrugged, glancing away.

"… I'm your prisoner, remember? A servant. It's expected of me."

"If you wish." That lopsided smirk again, here and gone. "Antoinetta was asking after you. Wondering when you would be by again to cook. She's quite taken with you."

"Only because I'm better at chopping vegetables than her." I smiled to myself as he snorted. "… Thank you. I'll have to drop by." Oddly the thought was – nice. Nice to drop by the place I'd been kept prisoner in for _weeks_–

No, not really. That wasn't it. Nice to see her, nice to have company at all. And nice to have some distraction from my own circling thoughts.

"Your basket."

"What?"

Dry as dead leaves. "Your _basket."_

"Oh!" I slid it properly back on my shoulder, glancing behind and picking up the few fallen mushrooms with a sigh. I'd overfilled it. Have to keep a careful eye to not spill again and risk them bruising in the fall. Really, I'd picked too many. Even for a big stew, some would go to waste. I could always dry them, or…

Or.

"Is she there now?"

"For now. I expect she'll depart again soon." An arched brow, questioning. I glanced at him, to the basket and back.

"… How would your family feel about stew for supper?"

_What are you doing here, you idiot?_

The scents of sage and beef fat and earthy mushrooms now carried through the Sanctuary, accompanied by that ever-beautiful presence of fresh baked bread. From any home, it would have been a call to herald supper, gathering the family.

Here…

Well.

Here _was_, I supposed, their home.

But as the rest of the family that was there gathered, I wondered what exactly I'd been thinking, coming here. Spending time with Antoinetta was just _fun_, that much was true. In the short weeks we'd known each other she'd become like a little sister to me. She chatted my ear off, told stories, giggled at my own little anecdotes. But the others…

_I don't belong here. I was imprisoned here for a month, then I run right back? What's wrong with me?_

And yet, maybe it was a good thing I was here. I was an outsider, but these people were my mother's family whether I liked it or not. And besides, at least it was some distraction from other thoughts, tonight. If I left, I'd be thinking again of the Dark Brotherhood as the nebulous tool Bolor would have used to kill me.

But here and now, as much as it left me uncertain how to feel – here and now, they were just people. My mother's people.

Teinaava came first, still resigned to healing at home until he regained full mobility. A glance told me he was indeed healing well, but sore – he winced coming to the table, Ocheeva placing a gentle hand on his back. M'raaj-Dar skulked in alone, taking his bread and bowl and sitting at the very edge of the large table. Lucien then, almost too polite as he accepted the meal, leaving Antoinetta tittering and me glaring. Even Vicente joined us – I poured him a bowl without thinking, offering it as he approached.

Only seeing those red eyes reminded me. I faltered, feeling my own face redden. "Oh – you wouldn't – of course, I'm sorry."

Antoinetta elbowed by, flashing me a grin and handing Vicente a steaming bowl as I frowned. "Vee just likes a little broth to try."

"Indeed. I may not need the sustenance I used to, but I do enjoy different flavours and can still partake of different broths and beverages." A raised brow to Antoinetta. "And I believe I have _told _you how I feel about that nickname, Antoinetta."

"I only do it out've _love_!"

"Shall I assume there is no garlic in this, also out of love?"

"Cross my heart."

Then he sat too, and our little get-together was complete. Telaendril off now on contract and with their recent loss, they seemed too large for a family and yet it still felt almost uncomfortably intimate. And even with all of them, there were several empty spots at the table.

At last I joined them, beside Antoinetta at the end and across from Lucien. "Is the Sanctuary usually this…" I tried and failed to think of a better word. "… Quiet?"

Shared looks between them all. Of course it was Vicente who spoke, polite as ever. "It has been a hard year, and given current circumstances it is perhaps for the best we are not entertaining new recruits as of yet."

The circumstances. No one said it, but a chill fell over the room. We all knew what he meant. No one wanted strangers here when there was a traitor about. No one knew who to trust.

But Antoinetta grinned, bright and cheery as ever. "Teinaava, I put extra beef in yours."

A small smile bared the Argonian's teeth, humouring, affectionate. "Thank you, sister. Another few days of your stews and I'll be ready for work again."

"Another few days of her stews and _I _will be ready to eat anywhere else," grumbled M'raaj-Dar.

The girl pouted, wagging her spoon at him. "You're just sulky because you thought I meant we were having_ real_ pig's ears for supper. _Ew,_ by the way."

"Pig's ears are a delicacy, in some more Southern provinces." Vicente, sipping delicately at the broth. "This is excellent, ladies. The herbs are lovely."

Ever the gentleman. I managed a smile. "Thank you…"

"Go South our way and you will find no pigs. Save any _invaders_." A shared little smirk between the twins, Vicente chuckling. Abruptly M'raaj-Dar stood, turning to the kitchen. An exasperated sigh from Antoinetta.

"I already put your spice blend on the table, _cat_."

"Hairless little monkey."

"I am _not_ hairless!"

"Mind yourselves." The warning came from Ocheeva, sharp and cracking down on the table hard enough for them both to look down in shame. "You will remember your manners, _particularly _when we are honoured by the Speaker's presence." Lucien, for his part, only raised a brow at the two as they bowed their heads, speaking in unison.

"Yes, mistress."

I swallowed a bite of broth-soaked bread and frowned, trying to dispel the tension. "… May I smell that blend, M'raaj-Dar?"

A frown from the Khajiit, but he complied. I accepted the little ceramic pot, wafting the scent up and having to wrinkle my nose. Not a bad smell, of course, but _strong._ Exotic herbs I recognized as coming all the way from the sands and above all, sweetness. I handed it back. "You must get the _baharat _shipped in. It smells delicious."

He only rumbled under his breath. Antoinetta watched the pot pass in front of her eyes and pouted, poking at her meal. "I just don't understand why you can't just like what _I_ make."

"It does not suit my palate."

"Oh, it's actually fascinating!" I perked up, sitting straighter as I explained. "I had a Khajiiti colleague at the University, another alchemist. But when we did our wortcraft exam blindfolded, he was given a different procedure because, you see, Khajiits can't taste sweet as strongly as we can – that's why they have to use so much of it – and…"

And I was an _idiot._ Feeling my face go bright red and hot as I realized they were staring, slinking down in my seat as Antoinetta and M'raaj-Dar had done but moments ago. Even Lucien, so far stoic, quirked a brow and smirked. "… Sorry."

Silence reigned for a long few moments, my chest tight and face prickling. Then, chiming laughter. Antoinetta slung an arm around me and squeezed, giggling in my ear.

"Oh, can we _please _keep her?"

"You're _already_ keeping me," came the sulky reply, but I couldn't help smiling under her wake of tittering. Still, though, I'd made a fool of myself. I made fleeting eye contact with M'raaj-Dar in particular, mouthing an apology. He gazed back with tawny, lidded eyes for a long moment.

"I am surprised you recognize _baharat_."

"One of my mentor's favourite tests was making us pick out the different plants and herbs in a spice." I remembered Julienne's approval as I would pick out the different components from an amalgamation of flavours and grains of texture. A pang of longing to hear her voice again, knowing I might never do so.

Antoinetta rescued me from my thoughts. "Anyone going to the festival on Fredas?"

A murmur of dissent. Another pout, but she pushed bravely on. "_I'm _going to the one in the Imperial City, leaving tomorrow. It's so much _bigger_ and I have work there, anyway."

"Which must come first, Antoinetta." Vicente, having finished his brief tasting and now sitting back, fingers intertwined.

"Always, Executioner. It won't take long, just some fatcat merchant that pissed off the wrong guildmates. You know how they are." She rolled her eyes with a grin, then caught sight of my expression, her own freezing, faltering. "… Oh. Right. Sorry! Um, it's – it's probably not anyone _you_ know! Unless you had a lot of friends in the Merchant's Guild…"

It was good I'd almost finished my meal. My throat so tight now, I didn't think I could manage feigning another bite. "… It's alright." I wouldn't know them. I knew few outside my colleagues at the University. But an innocent, _any _innocent…

I should have hated her, been disgusted by her. I should have been. But she clung to my arm another moment grinning, and I couldn't manage it. Only guilt and confusion, spinning in circles.

She was an assassin and a _person,_ as they all were. As maman was.

The meal slowly finished, everyone returning their dishes to be cleaned up and drifting off. Antoinetta dismissed me with a cheery swat and, drained, uncertain what I'd accomplished if anything at all, I made way for the exit.

Lucien met me there, walking with me up through the basement and out the back door, first in silence. Only when we stepped out into the backyard and made way back to the road did he speak, breath tinged with plumes of white as the chill of night fell.

"What were you trying to_ do_, exactly?"

It was like he'd read my thoughts. I gaped a moment then shrugged, gaze flitting away. "… No sense in letting the mushrooms go to waste."

"Try again."

I glared, but he only tilted his head expectant. A scoff, gusting out. "… I don't know. I wanted – a distraction, I suppose, and…"

"You wanted to see your mother's family. The sort of people she called her own, long before you."

I bristled at that, glare venomous. But he was right, wasn't he? They'd been her family before I was even born. "Well, I'm at least pleased they're not all as _insufferable_ as you. Even the twins are polite, despite your influence." I held a mouthful of crisp autumn air before expelling it in a sigh, remembering that night. "… They said you raised them."

"Very nearly. They were young, when they came to us." The city was quiet this late, but I couldn't help noticing how he spoke, carefully avoiding any real mention of his Family, their roles. No words that would incriminate. "I was entrusted with their tutelage and care. They've grown well. I am exceedingly proud of them."

I found myself blinking, watching him with surprise as we walked. Surprised and even a little touched how genuine he was about them, how gentle. Like the night he'd told me about the Night Mother, explained their history. He truly gave his life to this cause, his family, his faith a passion as much as alchemy was mine.

_Why?_

"… What…" I searched for words, both how to phrase it and how to avoid tipping off any unseen ears. "… How did you come to…?"

"Another night." Abruptly he stopped. We'd come outside my house and I'd hardly realized it, shifting my empty basket so I could get to my satchel, fumble for keys. My eyes flickered up to his, torchlight from the city lamps shadowing his features, the slow smile that curled.

"Keep trying, pet. Eventually, you may learn what you want to know. When you ask the right questions."

"And if you could be arsed to _answer_a few."

A low chuckle in his throat. "Another time. It's late. I have work to do, and you'll undoubtedly want to rise early like a good, Divines-fearing little merchant." A dip of his head. "Thank you for the meal."

Gods _dammit,_ the moment I thought I was finally starting to understand this bastard, he had me lost again. Swallowing hard, gaze darting over him before flickering away to avoid it. "You're welcome."

At least I'd accomplished something, tonight. My thoughts no longer spiraled around Bolor or the University, instead lingering on these people. And, admittedly, on _him._

_I should write mum. Ask what she knows, ask her why she ever even joined. There must be more to it._ But oh, full and tired my bed seemed so inviting, and as much as it galled me Lucien was right that I tended to be an early riser these days, so much to do…

For now I let sleep take me, and this time slept without dreams.


	27. Chapter Twenty-Seven

Colour. Vivid swathes of red, gold, orange blanketing the world, first in the forests, then reflected in the city itself as the plaza was transformed. I watched in awe as it happened, outside the plaza on the front steps of the chapel.

I hadn't been to a festival since – gods, when? Even in the Imperial City, Bolor had never enjoyed them. Too noisy, too crowded, too public, he'd said. Tar-Meena felt the same but I'd begged and begged, and at last she'd relented as she always did, just to make me happy. We went to the Merchants' Festival, shopped and laughed and fought our way through the crowd...

Hammering, clattering wheels, calls and cheers. Streamers and banners were hung, stalls set up for little wares from local craftsmen like the painter. Little hand-carved toys, games like apple bobbing and sandbag tossing, sweets – and what sort of festival would it be without alcohol? Tamika's from Skingrad, Sujamma and Greef from Morrowind in answer to the many Dunmer who lived here and more still, mead and beer and ale. No one would go thirsty tonight, no matter their tastes.

Twilight fell in a hurry, like it too was eager for an excuse to blaze the bonfires and start the festivities. Instead of children being called inside as the sky mirrored the red in the trees, they were shepherded out. Pointing, whooping. Someone was shaking a tambourine, someone beating a drum and suddenly, the party had begun.

After the week I'd had – with the painter, with the Argonian twins, the strange dinner, this was exactly what I needed. It felt so_ good_ to stretch, to play, be silly and laugh and grin like a fool. I didn't bob for apples, tempting as it was – apples now made me think of _him_ – but I watched and cheered, I tried little tastes of pies and rolls and the autumn harvest's final offerings. Cinnamon, nutmeg, ginger, things that made my nose tingle and my mouth water.

_I can do this. I can stay here, run my shop and be really – happy. Brotherhood be damned, I can be happy._ I had to grin at the drinks, gladly accepting a honey-sweet cup of mead. _Especially if all their festivals are like this._

"Miss Dust!"

"Oh!" I beamed at seeing Tivela again, all aglow in a pretty dress and a smile of her own. "Good to see you again."

"I'd hoped I'd spot you. Rythe says if you want to come pick out your favourite piece, we'll bring it to you on the morrow. Best not to be carrying it around tonight, hm? Need a hand for a drink." She winked at the cup I held as I blushed, following her stride. All around us people were beginning to move to the music.

"I do have two hands…"

"Ah, but you'll want the other for dancing!"

I had to giggle at that. She took me over to her husband's stall where little examples of his work lay on canvas, themselves explosions of colour both lifelike and brighter than life. "I don't know if I'll dance, honestly. It's been a while…"

"Nonsense! You're a lovely young lady, ought to get some boy on your arm quickly enough, hm? Now, what do you think of this one? It's one of Rythe's favourite pieces…"

By the time I'd picked one out the Dunmer woman was smirking again. She wrote down my choice with a little chuckle, looking over my shoulder.

"Now, see? What did I tell you?"

I turned to see a Dunmer smiling at me – a handsome Dunmer in finery, his hair long and dark, face narrow and catlike with lidded eyes and a grin. A little flush of heat crept into me. _He looks a bit like Bolor. Same pretty eyes… _

"I should say it _aggrieves_ me, miss, to see a lovely damsel such as yourself unaccompanied by a partner!" He offered a hand with a dip of his head. "May I be the one to escort you to the dancing area?"

"_That,"_ Tivela whispered behind me, "Is Lord Farwil, son of Count Andel Indarys."

_Why not_. I laughed aloud and took his hand, flashing a grin to Tivela as she waved me off. _Why not?_ "I can hardly refuse the son of a Count, can I, sir? I'd be honoured."

_Let's have a little fun_.

Before long I wasn't just _in_ the crowd, I was a part of it – one of many laughing and humming along, tapping my feet and moving in little swirls and matched steps with my sudden new friend, and it was_wonderful._

"You dance like a lady." He seemed surprised by this, though perhaps that was aided by clearly being a little in his cups. "Where'd you learn this, hm?"

"No one dances like the Bretons, Lord Indarys." Now, to be fair, I wasn't that far behind. Not drunk – I'd learned my lesson that night at the Sanctuary. But I was pleasantly lost, warm and bubbly and just _happy_. "I took lessons, growing up."

"Not exactly something the peasantry does, is it?"

I had to cackle at that, leaning in for a moment as his hand shifted to lower my voice to a mischievous whisper. "I wasn't always a peasant. I was daughter of a Marquis, but I ran away." Well, _sort_ of.

"Ah, _ha_! How exciting!" A flash of teeth was all I caught as he raised his hand and I twirled, throwing back my head and laughing at the feel of my skirt billowing out. "I have so wondered what it would be like to leave this life of, of predestined _glory." _I laughed aloud as he gave me a little spin. "Titles and court intrigue and arranged marriage, the tedium that awaits me..."

"I ran from my engagement, too." I grinned, feeling more and more mischievous by the moment. He was handsome, after all, and it felt so _good_ to tease. Almost like before, with Bolor.

"And _that_ is to my fortune, milady." A chuckle, almost lost to the music. "Ah, but it looks about time to change hands. It's been a pleasure, would-be Marquess."

So it had been. We changed partners, changed hands, but still I shot him a wink as he grinned back. "The pleasure was all mine, my Lord."

My new partner was quieter but no less quick to laugh, to let me twirl and pull away and back and just to move. So different from some of the dances I'd learned for suitors and balls, even paced and slow. This was fast, foot-stomping and _fun._ As I changed hands again and the music gained tempo, the night falling dark and sparks shooting from bonfires into a black sky, I gave into it all. I didn't even look at my next partner before practically colliding with him, muffling laughter briefly against the poor man's chest –

"Having fun, pet?"

"Oh!" At that familiar voice, silvery and rough, I moved to pull away. "Oh, gods _dammit_ – "

"Now, now. You'll only draw attention if you run off." Lucien. Dressed in his day clothes, once again 'Miles Gaurrus' as his hand took mine and the other found purchase on my waist.

"The hell are you doing here?" I scowled, hissing as we moved. "Talking about drawing _attention_ – "

"I'd be remiss if I didn't attend at least a few of this fine city's festivities. A recluse draws more interest than you might think." _Dammit. Dammit, I should have known I'd run into one of them here, but why _him, _and dammit, worse that he's actually good at this –_

"And where does someone in your – _profession_ learn to dance?"

"You'd be surprised." That smirk, that _stupid _smirk, slithering across his features as he guided me into a turn and back to him, leaving me dizzy, breathless. Suddenly the dance felt immensely complicated, leaving me following him close, stumbling in the rhythm. "My work takes a variety of talents. You seem to be losing your footing. Something wrong?"

"_No,"_ I bit back quicker than I meant to, flustered as I tried to match his steps again. A bard was going rabbit-fast on his fiddle now, almost a voice in itself, high and clear, the piper and drummer picking up in turn. Was I moving this quick before? A whirlwind around us, vivid swathes of colour where the light of the bonfire hit. Woodsmoke and the burn of alcohol, the sweet mingle of perfumes and candies almost lost in the scent of the laughing, perspiring crowd and on top of it all, _him_. Musk and his aftershave close enough still to make me turn red like I hadn't with any of the strangers –

And then in a twirl, it was over. People laughed louder, the music winding down for a moment as some changed hands for a new partner, others finding their way out for some quick respite. I needed to catch my breath, feeling sweat beading at my brow, the lightness in my head, my chest.

He smiled, eyes lidded, dipping his head as I gave an automatic curtsy in return. "A pleasure, pet."

And in the crowd, he was gone.

It was well past dusk by the time I stumbled home. I felt – more than happy. Contented, delighted and just glad to have been there, to have the taste of mead and cinnamon lingering on my tongue and the soreness of my feet to bring home with me. In spite of that unexpected little meeting – _did it really bother you as much as it should have_? I scolded myself, but really, I couldn't be annoyed at all.

So it was with a smile on my face that I turned in for the night, let my head hit the pillow and slept hard.

Hard enough I almost didn't hear the door.

It took a moment for the sound to sink into my groggy head, almost an echo. A crash, swinging. A thump. Only then did I jump up, blood chilled.

_What…__?_

As quietly as I could, I slid open my bedside drawer, feeling in the dark for mum's dagger and wrapping my fingers tight around the hilt. Creeping into the hall and down the stairs with breath held, blade at the ready. _Could I use it, if I had to? Do I even know how?_

A weak, faint whisper. "Dust?"

"_Mum!__"_

The blade clattered down the stairs. I ran and fell to my knees where she lay, reaching and – no, gods, no, red, her hands and her blouse red, red, _red _– "What _happened!_?"

"The traitor – please, sweet, we hu-have no _time…_"

"Just hold still." I placed my hand over her side, wincing at the feel of slick heat, at her hiss of breath. Just the one wound, thank all gods, and I let my magicka flow. Knitting together torn muscle and flesh, letting blood quest for blood to coagulate and scar. "Were you followed? Maman – "

The door fell open again. A long shadow cast over us both, looming, and I scrambled back – the dagger, snatching it and flying to my feet like a cat, hissing, shrieking, _"__GET AWAY __– "_

A moment and, I don't know how, but I was pushed back, briefly twisted and held by the arm. A hiss in kind. "Be silent."

Lucien.

"It's alright, _chérie_, it's alright." I stumbled back and stared at mum as she spoke, beginning to pull herself up from the floor. A flicker of fear when Lucien moved to her but he only helped her to her feet. "Lucien…"

"I saw you in the street when I was leaving the Sanctuary. What happened?"

"The traitor. It must have been." A tight swallow and she stood upright, giving a shuddering breath and favouring her wounded side. "You weren't at Farragut. I was going to the Sanctuary when I was cut off, and they gave chase, but when I turned to fight they ran – I didn't get a good look - "

"But they didn't kill you." Lucien growled, his arm giving her something to hold as she found her balance. "It's a message. Why are you here, Abelle?"

I'd never seen maman's face so pale. "The Black Hand thinks it's _you,_ Lucien. They say they have evidence of your betrayal."

Deathly stillness. I caught my breath, then grabbed Lucien's arm and swung to face him, snarling. "If you did this to my mother, I _swear _– "

"If I wanted to hurt her, there would be_ nothing_ you could do to stop me." I shrunk back at the gravity, the cold truth in his words before he turned back to mum. "Did you come to kill me then, Abelle? You are welcome to try."

"Hah." She shook her head, a grimace of a smile twisting on her lips. "No, Lucien. You're no traitor. I came to warn you."

"Mum – "

"There will be a hunt for you, and now for me as well. They'll come for us. If we barricade Fort Farragut – "

"No. They would find a way in. The traitor attacked you to make us panic, send us fleeing there. We'd be trapped." I could see his jaw set, eyes burning like chips of flint caught with sparks. "There is a farm far North of here, abandoned since a recent contract. Only my Silencer and I know of it – our rendezvous point, should anything go wrong with Farragut. She's been seeking evidence…"

Lost. I was lost and helpless to understand any of this, to do anything at all to fix it.

"They won't suspect. _Chérie_…" Finally mum turned to me, taking my face in her hands. "You must come with us."

Lucien and I spoke in unison. _"What?"_

Her stare turned on him, hardened. "Once they realize I fled here to warn you, they will come for her. And if the traitor wishes to draw us out, they'll think of her first. Darling, I'm sorry, but we have to go."

"It could be a trap, maman." I narrowed my eyes at the other Speaker, hissing. "Leading us off to some remote little farm…"

"I trust him. I need you," she pleaded, "To trust me."

"I value your trust, Abelle. Sister." Lucien returned my stare, then barked. "Go and prepare. Pack only the essentials – rations, healing supplies, little else. We have no time to waste."

Prepare.

I changed from my nightshirt and stuffed my bag with herbs, bandages, rations of food as quickly as I could, racing back to them with my cloak around my shoulders. "Mum, are you sure you can travel? Your wound – "

"We have no choice, _mon chou_. Follow me. Stay quick, and stay silent."

We left then, me locking my home – my home, already having to leave it behind – and moving out into the silent streets. Signs of the earlier festival still littered the ground. Banners and apple cores, litter and tracks in the dirt trails. Impossible to believe that had happened, that I'd been so perfectly happy hardly hours ago. Our breath shivered out in white clouds behind us as mum led the way to the stables.

Lucien stood by his mare, saddling her and stroking her side as she whinnied softly. Mum readied a little milky filly, pulling herself on and glancing at me, nodding her approval. Lucien looked up as well, cold. Had I really been in his arms, quipping and twirling? It seemed like a dream, now. "You're with me, on Shadowmere. I doubt that little beast Abelle calls a horse could handle you both for long."

"Fine." I grit my teeth and slipped my foot in a stirrup, cursing my height. A quiet laugh, so strange in all of this, sounded from mum behind us as Lucien grabbed my waist and hoisted me up so I could sit before mounting as well, taking the reins with either of his arms encircling me. I shivered, not from the cold but from warmth in contrast - his warmth, being so close to him again in such a different way…

"Let's go." Mum nodded at us and urged her horse onward, moving swiftly ahead of us into the darkness. I shivered still, giving a gasp as Lucien's horse abruptly took off and the world suddenly began to bleed past. We caught up to mum, and I snuck a glance, hoping my healing had done enough. Whatever pain she felt, she didn't show it - her expression was one of utter concentration, only her lips moving. Speaking - praying.

I almost wanted to join her. To plead to some great entity, to beg for mercy, for our lives and safety…

But I didn't know whom to pray to.

Days passed. Though the farm wasn't far, it was far enough, and the days seemed to only grow longer. The chill of Cheydinhal became bitterly cold mountain winds as we moved further North. _Keep moving _\- that was our mantra, what little we said to each other when we spoke. _We must keep moving._

We stopped only to let the horses rest and hide our tracks, a task becoming more difficult in the pristine powder that coated the trails. One of us would steer Shadowmere as the other slept, and the final followed on mum's horse. Lucien only grudgingly rested, and only for short periods - at even the snap of a twig underfoot his eyes would flash open, his hand would fly to his sword. Mum slept soundly for longer than either of us could - I worried my lip, glancing at her slumped against Lucien. The wound had taken more out of her than she was willing to admit.

Despite the bitter cold, the constant fear, there was a certain intimacy to it all. To sleep in the arms of someone you hardly know - or perhaps worse, know all too well. To trust them with your life. Knowing we had only each other as we travelled through the mountains towards what Lucien had called 'Applewatch.'

I braced myself, gripping the reins of mum's filly with numb hands as the wind bit at my cheeks. I rode alone, then - mum was resting once again as Lucien held Shadowmere's rein, face hidden in the shadow of his hood. The storm swirling around us pushed us ever forward, ever faster, and yet I felt as though we only moved in dizzying circles. I pressed the horse onward, gazing at mum once again before jerking at a sudden flash of silver - Lucien, drawing his sword.

"What is it?" I could barely hear my own voice above the cry of the storm, but Lucien looked up, grim. As he parted his lips, I received my answer. A long, almost mournful howl echoed.

"Wolves." He grimaced, voice low and harsh. "Be on guard."

"…Oh." He hadn't heard - had already turned and was pressing forward. I stroked the filly, more for my own comfort than hers, following the trail Shadowmere had left. _It won't last long in this storm, anyway._ The wind had created dunes, leaving some areas bare rock, some swept with high, arched curves of deep snow, sweeping our trail away. But Lucien seemed to know his way_._

_I trust him. I need you to trust me._

Another howl - close. Too close. Suddenly the world, already dizzy with whipping spots of white, was moving faster – up first as the filly bucked and screamed, then suddenly flying by. I couldn't keep up, numb fingers desperately grappling for the reins, trying to shout over the storm. "Stop - _stop_!" I tried to pull back, cringing as she bucked and almost threw me off, as I heard mum's frantic voice call to me.

And behind us, snapping, howling_, hungry,_ I heard them. A glance behind and yellow eyes met mine, a flash of red, a cry of pain from the horse beneath me as she stumbled and raced on.

It happened very quickly. Hearing the patter and scrape of the snarling beasts behind, forced forward into the blistering winds and blinding snow, gripping the reins so tightly it seemed my hands had frozen onto them. The pounding of Shadowmere, coming after us. I gasped for breath, filling my lungs with gusts of chill air that crept into my very marrow. Chased, yet no clue where to go.

_I can't see, I can't stop her, they'll tear us apart -_

A sharp, screaming sound, like thousands of glasses shattering. Following us, it seemed, below us, and suddenly there was no more_ below _us, only blackness and bitter cold, dragging me down. I could do nothing but sink as the frigid waters seeped through my cloak, my skin, as the shock stole my breath away.

For a moment I only floated there, disbelieving. It was like I'd slipped into that void Lucien had so eloquently described. Bitter, bitter, _bone-biting_ cold, enough to make my breath catch before it all left me in a shudder, lungs burning as I struggled back to the pale, glowing blue of the surface, my only light in the dark.

_Air, I need to breathe, water breathing, I need - _Desperate sounds. The wails of the horse, the snapping of the wolves and whimpers as one scrambled above me to try and get back on the ice. The filly in front of me, trying to get up herself, hooves thrashing and cracking, smashing the ice all around me making it impossible to get a grip. A spell on my lips, until the steel and bone of her foot hit me. In blackness flashed spots of white, until they were consumed.

I heard my name, felt something grip me. Then felt nothing at all.


	28. Chapter Twenty-Eight

I awoke to warmth, and pain. Coursing from my skull along my jaw, tingling down my spine to the tips of my toes in a dull ache. Familiar scents - smoke, tea, burnt bread. The sensations were muddled, and I tried to make sense of them as I wrenched open my fever glued eyes.

_Where…__?__ Oh. Ohh, gods._ I raised a hand to my head, stopping at the feel of bandages wrapped around my brow. For a moment I almost believed myself back at the University, in the infirmary after Bolor left. With great effort I squinted hard, blurred shapes sharpening. Wood - logs, a ceiling. A blazing fire at my side. Heavy, warm wool and fur layered over my body. I groaned, testing out my voice, wondering for a moment if it had really been me making that inhuman sound.

"Dusty?" The scrape of a chair and a face came into view, eyes dark, face drawn with worry. "Darling, can you hear me?"

I nodded weakly, parting my lips, unable to force more than a croak from my throat. Mum sighed and dragged a hand over her face. "Thank the Night Mother." I watched dumbly as she poured a mug of tea by the fire, the sound and smell comfortingly familiar. "Here, drink. It's your willowbark brew, should help with the pain."

I nodded again before taking the mug, holding it tight. My fingers felt so sore still, pinkish and drawn with frostbite. I'd been so sure I'd never be warm again… "What h-happened?"

"The wolves." Mum glanced at me, pursing her lips. "Careful, it's hot. You were chased by wolves, and from what we saw you were chased onto a lake. The ice must have been too thin to hold the weight…"

"Oh - shit!" I cursed trying to take a sip, shrinking slightly at mum's raised brow before blowing on the tea to cool it off, lips still smarting. "Sorry."

"I've heard far worse from you." Mum smiled softly, a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes as I tried another tentative swig. This time it went down easy, deliciously hot and soothing, bringing me back into myself. "Not too quickly, or you'll make yourself ill. Are you hungry?"

Hungry. Another ache joined the ones I had and mum chuckled, returning with a piece –of still-warm, if slightly overdark bread, heated by the hearth. I took it gratefully and began to chew, remembering. Travelling to Applewatch, to hide. Being chased, the bitter cold and blackness. I shivered, moving my gaze to the mug. "How long was I out?"

"A few hours. You woke up before, but you didn't seem to recognize Lucien or I." She sighed, laying the back of her cool hand on my brow. "Good. The fever's gone down, too."

"We weren't…" I tore off another hunk of the bread, making a face through the crunch of the crust on my teeth. Still, I was grateful to eat at least something, even as my stomach clenched in anxiety. "We weren't followed?"

"Not that we saw. It's difficult to say – any one of us is skilled in shadow. But we did all we could to be careful, and we made it here. We'll sleep in shifts and keep close watch. I think that's enough for now." Mum took the mug and what little I hadn't devoured of the bread. "You should rest, sweet. We made it." Another of those small, sad smiles. "We're safe here, for a time."

"Okay." I hadn't realized how tense I'd been until I relaxed again, sinking into the bed, feeling the heavy warmth of the blankets settle on me. I turned my head, frowning. Applewatch. Quaint, warm, a simple cottage. A table nearby, tin pitcher and cups set out with a kettle hissing over the hearth, two empty chairs, one occupied. Lucien - sleeping, it seemed. He sat slumped, a hand on his cheek, the other dangling just above his sword. Mum followed my gaze, then smiled, warmth at last in her eyes.

"He's hardly left that spot since I arrived." A gentle laugh, creases deepening around her eyes and curved lips. "Ever vigilant, I suppose. He rode ahead with you, on Shadowmere, while I covered our tracks until he came back. You were already by the fire and in bed. Put the bread on the hearth for you when you started to rouse, too. I think he left it a little too close." Mum chuckled. "Try not to tease him about that."

"He…" I blinked, her words sinking in. "…So he was the one who got me out of the water?"

"And got you here, yes, and I owe him everything for that." Mum approached again, brushing a curl of hair from my face, smile falling. "… If I'd lost you…"

_Lucien saved my life. _I tried to understand this, to imagine it. I remembered - hearing my name, strong arms pulling me, but after that, nothing. I shook my head, searching for something else to bring up. "What happened to your horse?"

"Ah. Poor thing." Mum bit her lip. "She got out of the ice and ran, the wolves after her. I suspect - I suspect she's long dead now."

I winced. "I'm sorry, maman."

"Don't be. You're safe, and we made it. That's all that matters." I closed my eyes as mum kissed my forehead and pressed a fresh mug in my hands again. "I'm going to check on Shadowmere, see that she's warm enough. Drink a bit more, then rest."

I listened, only opening my eyes once again when I heard the sound of the door creaking shut. The room was still, then, the only sounds the rustle of blankets and the rise and fall of his breath as Lucien slept. I gazed at him under a furrowed brow. It seemed so strange, to see him like that. At rest, not quite at peace but limp and silent in slumber. I felt as though I was witnessing something terribly intimate, terribly raw. I shook my head, struggling to keep myself sitting upright as I sipped. _He's only a man_, I reminded myself.

_But he saved me._

_Why?_

I groaned at a throb of pain in my skull, a wave of dizziness making my body go weak, the mug seeming to jump out of my hands. I swore as it fell to the floor with a crash. _"Dammit!"_ Just as quickly as the mug broke Lucien was upright, sword half-drawn, looking ready to pounce. I shrunk back, voice meek. "…Sorry."

"Hhm." A sound somewhere between a laugh and a grunt. "You're forgiven." Lucien snorted, sheathing his sword casually and striding over to the bedside. I shivered as the bed creaked beneath his weight when he sat on the edge, gazing at me. "Where's Abelle?"

"She's with Shadowmere. Making sure the stable's warm." Beneath the idle conversation something lingered, something deeper. I took a breath, stroking my hands down the fur of the blanket. "…Thank you."

A wolfish smile, eyes lidded. "For saving your life, or for my forgiveness? Do tell."

I scowled half-heartedly, almost pouting as he pulled off his hood. "You're never going to let me forget this, are you?" A smirk was my only answer, and I shook my head, murmuring. "Of course not." I couldn't quite move my gaze from his face - though pale, his jaw dark with stubble and eyes bagged from exhaustion, the smirk remained. He raised a brow, tilting his head in question.

"Just…" I tried to think of something to say before trailing off, moving my gaze as my cheeks burned. "You burnt the bread."

"And you broke a mug. With any luck, we'll have this place destroyed before Abelle returns." I couldn't quite stop a giggle bubbling up at the ridiculousness of it. Joking, even now, and somehow what normally would have made me only roll my eyes left me sniggering. I caught my breath, gazing up at him as both brows raised.

"I… I suppose I owe you an apology_. Again_."

"And the very thought _galls _you, doesn't it?"

I rolled my eyes, wishing I still had the mug for something to do with my hands. As it was I bundled up the heavy blankets, staring down at them as I spoke. "… Not as much as you'd think."

The humour had left his expression when I met his gaze again as he spoke. Somber, slow. "I have done many things that some would call monstrous, without regret. I will do them again, without hesitation." A harshness in his murmur, conviction. "But I have never spilled the blood of Family. There is very little that could describe me as _redeemable_ –" A sneer. "But I am loyal."

By now my hands were a tangle, fingers digging into the thick fur of the blanket, into each other. I extracted and cracked my stiff fingers, feeling a shiver along my shoulders even for the warmth enveloping me. "… Is that why you saved me?"

"You may be bound to us, pet, but you are not Family."

Not his, at any rate. "Then why?"

He fell silent, and yet I felt like I heard his voice in an echo. _Because you are your mother's daughter._ On an uncertain whim I reached out, took his hand as he glanced back with an arched brow.

"You worked closely with mum, didn't you? In – in the old days."

"I did." Surprisingly warm, his hand, rough and covering mine so easily, sending a little tingle through me. Why did I do that? More, why did I _keep _doing that, didn't want to pull away as he spoke? Why didn't he? "She was assigned as my mentor, in my youth. We were close enough in age that the gap in experience wasn't overly vast, and our skillset was similar."

Skillset. Even now, I didn't like to think about what maman really was. "I asked Vicente what she was like back then, once…"

"Condescending, overly confident and determined to outmatch me at every turn." His smile a show of teeth. I had to laugh at that, shaking my head.

"Is that where _you_ got it from? From the older Sister you never wanted?"

"Precisely. But she did teach me well, I will give her that much."

"Lucien…" Still I kept my hand curled in his. I could make the excuse that I'd taken it to get his attention, but… "… Why did you save me?"

He regarded me with hooded eyes, then gave a low sigh, turning to stare into the fire. "Abelle risked her life to warn me. Even still, she does. I would be remiss if I did not pay that loyalty in kind, and help defend that which she values." A shiver as his gaze moved back to me.

I couldn't place what I felt. Gratitude, certainly. But something else, too, something I couldn't name just yet. "… Well. Thank you."

"You should rest." He pulled away abruptly, and only then with the movement of his sleeve did I see it – the tear there, the flash of ugly red and brown. I sat up straighter and reached out for his arm, frowning.

"What's that?"

"What?" A sudden frown and Lucien grunted, shifting the rip away. "It's nothing."

"Doesn't look like nothing." The healer in me perked in curiosity. I pursed my lips, taking his arm. "Let me see."

"It's nothing," he repeated, but let me look with a withering glare. I only glanced back before examining the wound - a bite, an attempt to take the flesh of his arm that had almost succeeded. The tooth marks sank deep, tendons ripped. I winced, giving a sound of sympathy that only made him scowl.

"This needs to be healed. Let me…"

"I've endured far worse." A rumble from his throat. "Fine. Do it quickly, then. It's your own damned fault if you faint from the exertion."

"I'm not that delicate," I retorted, ignoring the ache of my body that said otherwise. I traced around the wound, eyes half-closed, the hiss of a spell moving warm and sweet through me. The fading throb from my head panged in protest but I continued, watching as his wound began to heal - muscle knitting, tendon sewing, flesh joining as one again until all that was left was a painful scar. Not quite healed, but close. I closed my eyes for a moment, weak and empty, a wave of dizziness moving through me before I could speak. "Is that better?"

Critically Lucien watched, flexing his arm as though to test my work. "…It's good enough." He frowned as I lay back, closing my eyes. "Go to sleep. Abelle will have your hide for exerting yourself." A snort. "And no doubt she'll try to take mine." I nodded, already feeling myself sink into a soothing, warm darkness. "And, pet?"

I gave a contented sound. "Mm?"

A snicker. I could imagine his face, smirking, eyes gleaming in satisfaction. As I fell to sleep, his words rang clear.

"You're_ welcome."_


	29. Chapter Twenty-Nine

"Anything?"

I awoke without startling, hardly realizing I'd been asleep at all. Warm and lost in the dark, blue shadows cast over the inside of the cottage from frost-laced windows. A vivid contrast the red-gold hearth, casting a long, wavering shadow from where Lucien sat.

I didn't stir but listened. Maman, walking over. Her boots sounded wet. She must have gone out, circled the cottage at some disturbance to make sure we were still safe. They took turns in their vigil, always prepared.

"Just a hunter."

"Too close for my liking. I assume you took care of it."

"Naturally. Sithis' sake, Lucien, do you honestly think I've gotten so soft?"

I curled up tighter in the bed, swallowed at the wrenching knot in my stomach. Maman's voice was – strange. Amused and elegant in a whisper but _cold_, cold and sharp. Lucien's chuckle, the same.

"First tied to a healer, then some pampered noble in his manor, throwing parties and raising children – yes, Abelle, I rather think you have."

"If we get out of this alive, I'll make you eat those words."

_Go back to sleep. You don't want to hear this._ I squeezed my eyes shut, held my breath in my chest. Not this side of her. I knew it was there, I knew it was why we were here in the first place but I didn't want to have to –

"Do we have a corpse on our doorstep, then?"

"Don't be ridiculous. There's a lake North aways. Weighed him down with stones and tossed him in – he won't be found until Spring, at the earliest."

I gaped there in the dark like I'd taken a blow to the gut. Too close for his liking. Gotten soft, _stones_ -

Lucien's whisper in turn, darkly amused. "Still with your garrote wire?"

"I have my bootknife, but I thought it better to leave no trace."

It was like I was watching myself, but not in myself. Seeing the blankets pushed away, seeing the floor in front of me as I lurched out of the bed. The blast of wind, the slam as I launched out the door into the night. The blanket of snow, the shadowed pines. Maman calling after me, barely heard over the roar in my ears.

The snow was cold, so cold it burned on my bare feet but I couldn't bring myself to stop. It seemed to cut as I ran, from the front of that quaint little cottage barreling into the woods, stumbling, catching myself on all fours until my hands were scraped red, crystals of ice clinging to my clothes.

_Garrote wire._

Some innocent man at the silt bottom of a half-frozen lake. Did he have a family? Loved ones, who would wait and wait and never see him again. Maybe he had a daughter, a girl who'd wake up dreaming of him, never able to totally understand why he'd gone.

I sank into the snow, my teeth chattering between sobs.

_I can't do this I can't, that's not her, that's not my mum in there. _Flashes of images, new and old. In her study, composing a letter to that distant friend in Cyrodiil I now knew to have been Vicente. That drunken night she was made Speaker, cradling my hot face with cool hands and telling me she loved me, that she didn't regret leaving her old life for us even if she'd come back…

The time I used her good perfume, wore her jewels and pretended I was her, leaving her teary-eyed with laughter. The night after my engagement, convincing my stepfather to give me the freedom I so dearly craved. The secret smiles, the quiet scoldings. A key from her hands into mine, giving me my home and my purpose again. An anchor as I was set adrift in the echo of the life she'd lived.

Her, but _not_ her. Not that woman who spoke so coldly of such horrible things. It couldn't be, could it?

Yes. _Yes_, it could. I inhaled raggedly through my teeth in a mirthless grin, raking my hands through my hair. And that made it so much worse. Knowing she could be both in the same skin, and I had no choice but to accept it. My breath came out as mist, each lungful freezing me inside out.

_I can't do this._

_I can't _not _do this._

_I could run. Run for Bruma, run away from all of this._ I could abandon them to the fate that had cast its shadow on me. Except, even as I sat there hating her, I knew I couldn't.

Because I loved her just as much.

_Be sensible. For once in your godsdamned life._ I squeezed my eyes shut, forcing the last tears free to freeze on my cheeks. _You can't run. You wouldn't even if you could. Go back inside and ignore what you heard and do what you have to do._

"Okay." I whispered to myself, rubbing my arms up and down and looking behind me, back to the faint glow of the cottage through the brush. I hadn't gone far, thankfully. Who knew what could be out in the woods this time of night -

A sound, sharp, crunching like teeth. The cracking of boots through the frozen crust of the snow.

I stiffened. Like a hare crouched in the woods, suddenly remembering the danger of it all. A traitor was looking for us, the Black Hand out for our blood and I'd just run off into the woods _alone._ It could just be maman, following. Or…

I acted on instinct from there. Barefoot, weaponless, grabbing the first thing I could think of and whipping it _hard,_ scrambling to my feet as the shadow moved in from the trees -

"Your aim is off."

The tension, the adrenaline left me all at once. Lucien. I dropped the second handful of snow I'd scooped up, watching as with a dry look he wiped the bits of ice off his chest.

"Is that your idea of a defensive maneuver, pet? Throwing a _snowball?_"

I gaped a long moment, searching for words. My voice came out a croak. "… I wasn't thinking."

"Clearly." Dry as tinder the look he gave, that drawl. "I assume that is why you've run out here with the clear intent of losing toes."

I glanced down at my bare feet, my reddened hands, felt the burn on my cheeks. Alright, yes. This has been a_ remarkably_ stupid way to handle this. Something between laughter and a sob burbled up. I sank through the jagged frozen crust into the powder beneath as I staggered and _oh,_ every step was painful now with the adrenaline sapping.

"Come."

I didn't want to go back there. Not back to that little room knowing she was waiting, knowing what she was and having no choice but to see it. But neither could I walk away.

No, it wasn't my fault I was here. It wasn't my fault she was what she was, and that her past had swept me up in it.

But I couldn't let her face it alone. Even for what she was, she wouldn't do that to me. I wouldn't abandon her.

Besides, as I stumbled through the snow hissing with every footfall I realized I very likely wouldn't be able to walk away if I _wanted_ to. Lucien rolled his eyes, barely visible in the moonlight. I gasped when in an easy motion he scooped me up off my feet, almost slinging me over his shoulder like the night we'd met.

"I can – "

"The last thing we need is to be weighed down by a self-made invalid," came the curt reply.

He had a point. It was too much of a relief for me to be up off the snow to fight it much, anyway. I let him walk us the short distance back to the cottage, breath held cold in my chest.

My mother, mine. Jade earrings, mint perfume. A boot knife, garrote wire. But she held neither as Lucien shouldered past the door, putting me unceremoniously back on my feet. I hugged myself tight and dared a glance up.

Somehow, it was still her. Not a nightmare twin or a dark mirror, just her. My maman, her hair high and tight in a bun even now and her face so graceful, her voice so tempered as she pressed the hot mug in my hands.

"Here, darling. Go sit by the fire."

I was helpless to do anything but obey. My toes stretched almost instinctively to the hearth, the tea a welcome burst of heat spreading through me in shivery warmth. Relief, exhaustion thawed me. I didn't turn away as she sat beside me, sliding a cool hand to my cheek.

I met her gaze, mine flickering over her expression. Lips pursed, brow furrowed. A soft-as-snow sigh leaving her as she thumbed the stain of tears from my cheek. I felt my jaw shake, my breath shiver as I whispered.

"Who_ are_ you?"

A tautness came over her, tightening even still as she drew herself up. "I am – many things. But to you, _mon chou?_ I will always be your mother." A fragile smile. "I can't ask you to accept me, darling, but I need you to know that. I may be what I am, and you may hate me for it. I can live with that."

She shifted in her chair, moving closer to take my face in both hands as I choked back silent tears. "But because of what I am, I can _protect _you. And I always will, Dusty." A strange fierceness in her voice, a strength behind her eyes. "I am not a gentle woman. I am not like you. But I would _drench _my hands in blood to keep you safe and happy. She pulled me closer, held me tighter still. "That is all I can offer, but I offer it gladly."

A horrible reassurance and more horrible still that it meant something to me. That while a quiet part of me recoiled in disgust, I couldn't pull away.

"What if he had a family, maman? What if someone will miss him?"

"Then they will mourn." So cold, a cold not even the fire roasting me now could thaw. "He was a threat to our safety. To_ your_ safety. I didn't do it out of malice, or hate. I did it because I place greater value in my Family and in you than anything else. I kill for Sithis, and I kill because it means we will live. And we will."

"Even if it makes me hate you?"

The subtlest of winces in her furrowing brow, that soft breath. But she stayed focused on me, gaze never leaving mine. "Even then."

Silence reigned. The fire crackled, Lucien sat in a dark corner watching us with hooded eyes. There was a moment I pictured myself rising. Slapping her hands away, spitting rejection at her. Rejecting all the wrongness in everything she said.

But I didn't.

I tilted my brow to the crook of her neck and nestled in as she stroked my hair, whispering. "I don't hate you." Some part of me spat with it, yes, spat and screamed at the unfairness of it all. But I didn't hate her. How could I? "I just don't _understand_ you."

"You don't have to, _chérie_. I don't need your acceptance or your love. All I need…" That steel behind her voice again. "All I need you to know is that I love _you_. And no matter who you see me as, who I was or who I become, that will never change."

We sat there together, in the dark and quiet, for a long few moments. Then sudden light bled in, almost blinding in gold and peach as it spilled across the grooved wooden floor.

"Dawn." It was Lucien who broke it, glancing over to us, to mum. "Time to change watch."

"… Alright." She stood, laying a kiss on my brow before turning away. I wanted – I didn't know. To grab at her and pull her back, to demand words that would make all of this better. For her to explain…

But how could she?

I watched her until she had settled in the bed herself and even after that, as morning flooded in. Only when I saw the motion of her breathing go even and steady, her small form rising and falling, did I dare look away.

_Who are you?_

_And who am I, that I can accept you? That I don't want to lose you even now?_

I hugged myself tight, hunching over and pulling in my now thankfully thawed feet. "I'm still tired."

"And whose fault is that, I wonder?"

I shot him a glare, but there was no venom behind it. A deep breath, filling me, trembling out. "… Thank you for carrying me back."

A low sound of acknowledgement, but nothing more. I sank into the chair and closed my eyes, even knowing I needed to keep watch. But _gods,_ I was tired. Tired and tired of _being_ tired, tired of trying to find answers where none existed, tired of trying to understand it all…

Just tired.

_Later. All that can come later._ I squeezed my eyes shut now, gripped the arms of the chair white-knuckled. _Just focus on getting through this, right now._ We were out here until Lucien's Silencer came with proof of our innocence. Until then…

What could I do but accept it?

"You might as well sleep."

I cracked open an eye, frowning at Lucien as he moved to put on a kettle. "It's maman's turn. Mine just finished."

"Should we be found, you'll be no more use awake than you would asleep." I bristled, but it was true. Compared to him and maman, I stood no chance against the looming threat. "If you can manage…"

"Mmn. I dunno. Hard t'sleep, sitting up…" And yet my eyes were so heavy. All I wanted was to let what would happen, happen. I was powerless, or at least I felt it. Against the traitor and the danger we faced, against the truth of my mother, against everything that had swept me up and away from the life I knew. I was powerless, but I wouldn't leave her anymore than she would me.

Maybe another time I'd want to fight, want to find my freedom again, own my life again but for now…

For now, finally warm again, it was all too easy to drift back into the embrace of sleep.


	30. Chapter Thirty

Peace.

After the chill of our days on horseback and the feverish heat when I arrived, the days of content warmth and peace were more than welcome. I put the incident with the hunter aside as best I could, even if it made me sick with guilt to think of it. There was no taking it back. And what's more, I knew maman would never regret what she'd done, would never change. Not for me.

The most she could offer was her love and protection, both from bloodstained hands.

So I tried not to think of it. I kept occupied as best I could, reading the scant selection of books in the cottage, talking quietly, playing cards. We took shifts in our sleep, two always awake while the third slept, divided our rations and drank melted snow. In the crystallizing winter that had well and truly fallen this far North, time seemed to stand still.

All we could do was wait for it to move again.

"Four tens."

I threw down my cards in disgust. "You're a cheat."

"You _wound_ me, pet."

"Do you deny it?"

A catlike smirk. He lifted his sleeve just enough to show the brim of white cards peeking out beneath.

"Bastard, you _did_ cheat!"

"And you didn't notice. Who is at fault here, truly?"

"Whu – _you_ are!"

"And yet I won regardless."

"It doesn't _count_ if – "

A soft sigh. I froze and fell silent, glancing over my shoulder to watch mum in the bed as she shifted. A turn, the blankets rising and falling, then she was still again. At last I could breathe again, sighing, turning back to our cards.

Only three days we'd been here. Somehow it felt longer, long, unbroken days and nights melding into a stream of boredom, nothing to do but wait. Wait, and worry.

I whispered now, lowering my hand back to the table. "… She's sleeping more than she wants to, I think." There were periods that all three of us would be awake to eat together. This would be the second time she'd nearly slept through it. "I'm worried."

Even after that night, I couldn't hate her. Couldn't stop myself from worrying for her, wanting to mother her myself. I'd done all I could do for healing. Now it was just a matter of time and her own body taking over. But maman, while beautiful as ever, wasn't as young as she used to be.

"The wound took more out of her than she would admit." I blinked at him. A slow, mirthless smile curved his lip. "She did the same thing in the old days. Play the martyr, refuse to be slowed down. At least these days, she has the sense to rest when she needs it." He looked past me, glancing over to her. "You should wake her. She'll want to eat."

Part of me bristled that Lucien seemed to know her so well. The camaraderie between them invasive, envied, and yet it was also comforting to know he cared for her like I did. I rose from the table, this time letting the sigh go as I clambered up on the bed and gave her a gentle shake.

"Maman. Maman, wake up."

"Mmn." So strange to see her – _disheveled._ Gods, I hadn't seen her hair down since I was a child. But she smiled as she rose, stretching, lacing a warm arm around me and pulling me in for a hug I couldn't bring myself to reject. She still smelled like her, too. Not like blood or death but mint and bergamot, tinged with sweat after our days of travel.

"Hello_, mon chou_." Her fingers carded through my hair, comforting as her gaze landed on Lucien. Chin raising, brows arching as she saw the remnants of our card game. "How are you corrupting my daughter _now,_ you Imperial git?"

Lucien snickered. I bit back a laugh, grinning as I slid from the bed and she did the same on the other side. "Maman, I know how to play cards. I've known for years."

"And _playing_ is all well and good, but he's a cheat and makes unfair bets, besides. You will make no more '_deals'_ with my daughter, you understand me, Lachance?"

I flared red, remembering that drunken night with a tumbling stomach. From across the room I could see his eyes gleam. "Haven't forgotten that day in Anvil, have you?"

"_Never."_

Envy and amusement, somehow intertwined. Amused by their smiles, their teasing, and yet in the same breath jealous of the history they shared. Mercifully, maman dismissed it. She shook off sleep easily, marching to the cupboards of the little home we'd taken over. "Let's eat, then."

In short order we were all at the table, rations divided, earthenware cups filled with hot water. Not the most appetizing fare, and I lacked much appetite, anyway. Still, I picked away to avoid a scolding. Maman frowned.

"At this rate, we'll need to catch our dinner. Difficult, this time of year."

"My Silencer will be crossing the province seeking evidence of our innocence. She will move as quickly as she can, but there's nothing we can do to hurry her."

"I know how to make traps." A look of surprise from both of them. I shrugged, pursing my lips. "… One of my professors insisted on teaching basic survival skills. 'Always wandering off and getting lost, you dirt-sniffing alchemists.' He had a point."

"I'm proud, darling. You've learned more than I could have imagined, the years we've been apart. That reminds me – " She stood for a moment, a hand over mine going automatically to the rations. "Don't force yourself to eat. If you aren't hungry now you will be later, and you'll be glad for it then."

"Yes ma'am." I pulled my hands back, frowning. "Reminds you of what?"

"Did a little snooping. Not much left of the previous owner, but…" She moved to a little storage room. A few extra sets of blankets, barrels, not much else that I'd seen, but she pulled something free and –

"_Oh!__"_ I beamed at what she put into my arms – a lute, weathered but only in a way that meant it was once well-loved. I pushed my chair back from the table with a scrape as mum sat down, making room to stroke it, feel it properly. "I haven't played in _ages._ Not since…"

Not since last year, when I'd played for Bolor on a borrowed piece out in the twilight on the green university fields. A sinking feeling in my chest, not quite grief like it had once been, but sore nonetheless. Mum put a hand on my shoulder, smiling gently.

"Why don't you play for us?"

I gently strummed, just to get a feel for the strings, tuning. "You know, Toltette told me once I should consider the Bards' College. I think it was the only real compliment he ever paid me." A distant memory once so reviled, now making me smirk. "If only because he hated the idea of me grubbing about in the dirt after marriage."

"And knew you'd never abide being kept at home." Maman chuckled, eyes bright. Lucien for his part watched in relative silence, only breaking it then.

"You were to be wed?"

"A long time ago." It seemed so, at least, like it was somehow decades in the yawning past. Things had changed so much. It felt like I'd lived lifetimes, fingering the strings. "I refused him."

"Afraid of commitment, are we?"

"Afraid of being bound to some – some _toad_ who didn't even have the wits to know he was being used, too. Or the spine to do anything about it."

Mum's lips twitched. "You need a man who can keep up with you, hm?"

"Exactly." Bolor could. Our back-and-forths were half of what made our relationship work, especially as I grew out of my shyness. My gaze caught Lucien's idly and, for a moment, I felt my face flare. He smirked, and that did nothing to help matters.

I cleared my throat and turned my attention back to the lute. "… I am _not _playing _The Peaks and the Valleys_, you understand?"

"_Chérie_…"

"Because Tucket had me sing that to death and if I ever have to think about how 'my land is like a maiden fair' again I am going to _scream_."

Mum's laughter, chiming and delighted, warmed me. Her eyes crinkled at the corners. "Play whatever your heart desires, _mon chou_."

What my heart desired. Well, I was _certainly_ not going to play anything about star-crossed lovers, or uncertain feelings, or anything quite so painfully obvious. No, what came to my fingers and memory was something more grim, something Tucket would have never let me play. A little tuning needed, a little stiff with my hands out of practice but it made mum smile, made all tension evaporate from her face. I kept on, finishing as they finished their meals and sat back to listen.

"_And so I'd sooner sheath my blade_

_Walk the moors, bathe in the glades_

_Remember what my land has given me,_

_But should she call and should war turn_

_I would all peace and comfort spurn,_

_And to the bitter end defend it all._

_I'd lose it all that she may ne'er fall."_

As the last chord faded mum sighed, giving a soft smile. "I remember that one. High Rock has seen so many battles… not exactly the sort of song a pretty bardess sings, is it?"

"I like it. It's about defending what you love." My hand found hers, squeezing for a moment. A pang of fierce, protective love, so intense it echoed. "What matters most."

"Mmn." A squeeze back and she leaned forward, her brow meeting mine. Shared teary laughter before she glanced over to Lucien, still silent. "And what did you think, Lachance?"

A shrug. "A bit clumsily done, but passable."

Maman grinned, snickering under her breath and giving me a wink. "That means he liked it, _chérie_."

"I can speak for _myself_, Abelle."

"Certainly, except half of that is lies.You'd never do something so soft-hearted or human as admit to enjoying a tune. Or, indeed, to enjoying much of anything at all." A cluck of her tongue. "Dour and brooding as you were back then."

"Why don't I enjoy thoroughly thrashing you in a game, mn?" He thumbed the deck put aside, smirking.

"You're on. But first, while we're all awake, I'm going to get some more firewood."

"Maman, I can – "

"No, darling." At my frown, she softened, explaining. "… If you were caught alone, you'd be helpless. You're safer here with Lucien, if anything should happen."

"Then why doesn't _he_…" There was something strange in her gaze, concern and determination side by side. I faltered and she took the chance to kiss my brow, rising.

"I'll be back soon."

I stared at the door after her for a long few moments, finally sighing and putting the lute away. "I don't understand."

"Her wound."

I met his gaze, a cold trickle running down my back. "Her…"

"She is not certain she can defend you alone. It's slowing her down."

"She'll be alright." I spoke too quickly, wanting it to be true. It had to be. "I've been checking – it's healed well, there's no sign of infection or deeper trauma. Bad scarring, but…"

"She isn't as young as she was." I looked away, feeling my stomach clench. "She needs time."

"Then she shouldn't be out there alone." I rose, moving to pick up my cloak. "I'll go sit with her. Tell her I'm keeping her company. I'll convince her."

His lips parted but no words came, not at first. Eyes narrowing, head tilting as he watched me. "… You really would, wouldn't you?"

I shut the clasp and looked up, brow furrowed. "I would what?"

"Defend her, to the death. 'Lose it all.' Take up that dagger and fight for her, knowing it would be futile." His gaze was intense now, enough to keep me pinned in place as he spoke. Low and soft, deliberate. I shivered but straightened my shoulders, met his eyes.

"Without question."

"It was her actions that put you here, put your life in danger. Her past that has torn away what you knew." A brow cocked, the question probing, testing. Like fingering a bruise and seeing if I would flinch. "You don't resent her?"

An ache inside, prickling and hollow. My gaze strayed to the door after her. "… I do. But that doesn't mean I don't love her, too."

"Mmn." A sound of assent, a crooked smile. "I wasn't lying. Your voice is decent enough, your lute skills clumsy at best." He cut me off before I could retort. "But you are loyal. And I admire loyalty, wherever it is found."

I softened, at that. Felt my cheeks warm, pursed my lips and let my gaze drift away. "… Careful." I chose humour to handle it, this strange flutter in my stomach, the warmth in my chest. "If maman hears you talk like that she'll never let you live it down."

"Hah." A grin then and why did his make me grin, in turn? "Go, then."

I stepped to the door, hesitated in the threshold. For a moment, I thought to thank him. A brief, bright moment, then my courage dissolved. I stepped out into the snow, ready for a scolding, and left those thoughts in the cottage.


	31. Chapter Thirty-One

_"They say Dark Elven women are pro- pro- something. Prostitutes?" she said, although she was dubious."_

As the days continued to pass, we found ways to amuse ourselves as best we could. All three of us were awake again, maman unable to settle – I didn't ask why, though I knew, from how she held her breath as she moved, she was sore, today. Anything to keep her mind off it.

So I read The Real Barenziah aloud - we'd found a copy beneath an old bookshelf, as though it was meant to be hidden out of sight by its owner. Mum laughed, giving a crinkled smile as I grinned at her and Lucien lounged at the table.

"I'd almost forgotten this book. Vicente lent me a copy when I first came to the sanctuary - _uncensored_, no less." Mum chuckled at the memory, gazing at the book in my lap. "You know, sometimes I swear you have a bit of Dunmer blood. The way you flirted with all those poor servant boys growing up…" Lucien snorted as I flushed red, as mum gave a catlike smirk. "Oh, it's_ true_. Shameless thing. Except, of course, when she was busy reading, or dabbling with some new potion idea, or fighting with her sister…" Mum tapped her chin in thought. "What was it Anya said you were? Part Argonian?"

"Argonian?" Lucien raised a disbelieving brow.

Mum only smirked. "Why, Lucien, haven't you seen her _feet?"_

"_Mother_ \- " I sputtered, instinctively drawing my feet closer to my body as I felt my cheeks blaze. Mum snickered, feigning a snatch at my leg.

"Webbed toes. We never did know why. Oh, dear, _do_ stop with that glare, it's unbecoming. They aren't even very noticeable..."

"Maman, I love you, but I will _not_ hesitate to poison your share of the rations."

"Argonian, Dunmer…" Lucien sounded almost like he was musing to himself, voice light. It was strangely pleasant to hear him like that – the past days he'd become more and more withdrawn. "Why am I so unsurprised to hear the uncertainty of her parentage?"

Mum cackled as I gave a sharp gasp, staring with jaw dropped at Lucien before tossing a pillow in his direction. He only tilted his head as it flew wide. "_Uncertain -_ you – _you're_ the one with uncertain parentage, you _bastard_, Imperial face with a Breton name – "

"Then I suppose we are of a kind after all, pet."

"You're _both_ awful." The other pillow I swung at mum, taken back by how quickly she grabbed it, the unexpected speed with which she turned my weapon on me as I shrieked and covered my head. "Maman!"

"Attacking your helpless mother as she rests. _Shameful._ I would never have thought my own daughter would treat me so poorly."

"I am _without_ shame, mother, and I got that from you." I grinned, then felt it fade as my gaze drifted back to Lucien. Lost in thought again, face grave as he stared at the fireplace. A sigh. I shook my head and stood, returning the book atop the shelf nearby. "You should try to sleep, maman."

"Mm. And I'm going to check on Shadowmere." A sudden clatter of the wooden chair over the floorboards as Lucien stood behind us, already making his way to the door. I frowned.

"Again? That's the fourth time today. You're - " I scoffed as he let the door fall heavily shut behind him. "Hmph."

"Go with him." I raised a brow as mum spoke, settling back into the pillows with a sigh. "I need my rest, and he needs something to keep his mind off of all this. Company, even if he'd never admit it."

I scoffed, playing at disdain. "Doubt he wants _my_ company."

"Oh, I wouldn't be so sure." There was something entirely too _prim_ in how mum spoke, making me narrow my eyes at her smirk. "Being cooped up with you both, these past few days…"

I crossed my arms, shooting a telling glare in her direction, but she ignored it. Reaching for her mug on the bedside table, taking a slow sip of lukewarm tea before continuing. "Well. I simply think an alchemist, of all people, would recognize chemistry when she sees it."

"_Maman!"_

"Just telling it how it is, _chérie_. Ever since that night you kissed him, it's clear there's something there. You may as well follow it and see what happens, mmn? And Sithis knows, you both could clearly _use_ – "

I lunged to try and snatch the pillow she'd stolen, glowering as she moved it out of my reach with a satisfied little tilt of her head, keeping hold somehow without spilling a drop of her tea. My elegant, poised mother, with that coy tone implying things a mother really ought not to imply at _all_. "I _hate_ you."

Maman's laugh rang out clear like a bell as she grinned, taking my hand and now pulling me in close for a one-armed embrace. "Hate me all you need to, _mon chou_. So long as you love me, too. Go on. Let this poor old woman get some beauty sleep."

"Beauty hibernation, you old she-bear." I grinned and just managed to dodge a pillow that flew past me, blowing a little kiss before stepping out into the snow.

The blinding bright gleam from the snow had turned dim now as the sun began to set over our temporary hideaway. Our tracks were painfully apparent around the cottage - it had been a few days since it had snowed. The air was crisp and sweet. I took a breath and walked in the footsteps Lucien had made, following them into the stable and opening the door, poking my head inside. "Lucien?" A gruff rumble was the reply. I stepped into the mildew warmth of the stable, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the dimness.

"What did you need." Lucien stood by Shadowmere, gently stroking down her flank as she ate from a bag of hay. I shrugged, making my way to his side and idly looking where her old injury had been. Not even a scar. Less testament to my work, I suspected, than to her strange nature.

The stable was small, but cozy, fit for two horses with supplies. Apparently the previous tenant had been ready for a harsh winter. I gazed at the ceiling, blinking as a cold droplet hit me - snow, melting through the cracks of a trapdoor meant to open in the spring for sunlight.

"Mum kicked me out." It was - familiar. This strange warmth, the smell, the gentle whuff of breath from Shadowmere. A vague flicker of memory - being perched in a hayloft, barefoot, dress covered in straw. I shook the thought away, watching Lucien as he groomed the mare. Though his motions stayed fluid, he held unspoken strain in his shoulders, in the lines of his face. "… Are you alright?"

A crook of a mirthless smirk. "I'm surprised you care, pet. I will be fine when my Silencer returns with evidence of the traitor's identity. Beyond that…" A line between his nostril and lip, face tight as he surveyed Shadowmere's smooth hide. "Little else matters."

"We don't know when that'll be, Lucien. You can't spend the entire time grooming your horse, or she won't have a coat left." He relinquished the brush when I made to take it, scoffing under his breath.

"Why did you come in?"

Why did I? What mum had said rung true, but I didn't know what to say to him as I found a spot in the hay, sitting down to avoid his gaze. "I…"

"You wanted to _comfort_ me. That's not my way, pet. I will not be satisfied until the traitor hangs bloodied for their crimes, and my name is cleared."

I nodded as he spoke, a lump growing in my throat. I hadn't wanted to _comfort_ him, had I? Maybe, a little. We'd gotten closer these past days, and…

I scowled inwardly. It was just _strange_ to see him so on edge, and I found it disconcerting. Did mum feel that way, as well? It was something they shared between them, then, in those quiet whispers while I slept. Fear.

I felt little fear. This was all too strange, too distant for me to understand, unable to grasp the face of an enemy I'd never seen. All I felt was worry for mum. And - as much as it made me grimace to realize it - for Lucien. I sat straighter as he joined me, the straw crinkling under us. A questioning look, etched into his face. "You look puzzled."

"I - I have a lot on my mind." I shook my head, glancing at his arm. The rip in his sleeve showed a mark of the wolf bite, an ugly mark. "How's that healing?"

"Fine." He rolled his eyes as I took his arm, pushing away the folds of cloth to examine the scar. It healed well - a faded wound, as though it had happened weeks ago rather than days. "Your father taught you, I take it. Abelle said he was a healer."

"…Yes." Another flicker of memory, of papa's hands and the smell of dried herbs.

"Odd." A wolfish grin. "I didn't think Argonians had the knack for it."

"Bastard!" I gasped aloud, slapping him half-heartedly on the arm as he snickered, even as a laugh of my own escaped my throat. "You can hardly even _see_ them, and besides, at least I'm not a smug, half-blooded Imperial son of a - "

"Shut _up_, pet."

And he kissed me.

Sinking into the straw, his warmth on me, a hand on the small of the back and lips rough against mine. I was stunned for a moment before I responded, body yielding, mind panicking.

_So this is happening. This is, I _\- my hand snaked its way up to his back, pulling him closer, sinking further into the straw as he half-laid over me, taut. A palm ran down my shoulder, to my waist, toying with the laces of my bodice as with smirking eyes he pulled away to gaze down at me. Purring laughter, my stomach doing tumbles.

I blinked, warmth coursing through me, making my knees weak. "Um." _Godsdammitsaysomethinganything!_ "Isn't - isn't it your shift? To sleep? I think it is, since mum stayed awake for a bit for hers and you haven't taken yours and I could watch for, for both of you, and…" I trailed off at the realization that I was rambling, clearing my throat.

"And shall I take you to bed with me, pet?" He smirked at my indignant squeak. "Abelle would hang me, which would make it all the sweeter." Dammit, I could_ feel_ the heat burning my cheeks, and worse still I knew, I _knew_ it wasn't just from embarrassment. "Perhaps another time. But you are correct, for once." He stood, hands slipping from my body to brush straw off his robes. "I'll see you inside."

My fistful of straw hit the door uselessly behind him.

I cursed, laying back on the straw again, glaring at the ceiling before moving my gaze to Shadowmere, who gave me a reproving look. "Your master is a bastard, you know that? And a fetcher, and a git." She only snorted. "Yes, precisely."

_What am I doing?_ A full-body shiver in the wake of the cold hitting me now that he was gone. I raised a hand to my lips. _Gods._ _This is stupid, so stupid. This…_

What was _this,_ exactly?

I sighed, closing my eyes and losing myself in thought before wincing as another droplet hit me, harder this time, frigid water dripping down my nose. I blinked, looking up to see a crack of sunlight.

And eyes.

I didn't have time to scream.

Everything happened at once. The trapdoor flew open, the shape above landing atop me, pinning me down, one hand wrapping around my throat as the other took my wrists. Shadowmere snorting, bucking up and then in the corner of my eye I could see her shriek, stiffen, sink. Cold, cold, _cold_ dripping from above, cold laying over me, cold hands digging into my throat before they relaxed as colder eyes met mine, and he smiled.

"Maria." A croon, an icy hand tracing a line along my cheek as I shuddered, whimpered. Eyes a shade of gravedirt, breath reeking like meat and that face, that…

"_You."_ A name came with the face. Bellamont. The Speaker.

The traitor.

"He _touched _you, impure mother-killer-dog, make him_ pay_, make him – " I couldn't hold back a keen of terror as he leaned in closer, like a hound sniffing its prey. A hoarse sigh left him, his one hand still latched on my throat even as with the other he caressed my cheek. "Hush, my sweet Maria, hush, or I'll have to silence you again."

"I'm not Maria." Whisper soft my croak, trembling under his fever-bright eyes. Mad, _gods,_ he was well and truly mad. "You've got the wrong person, please – "

I tasted blood and only then did the sting of the blow follow, jerking my head to the side. "_Shut up_, that's _her,_ that's the girl talking but _soon_, my Maria, soon she'll be gone and you'll be back and Lachance will lay dead – "

"_No!__"_ With all my small fury I fought back, uselessly, choking as his grip tightened hard around my throat again. One hand pulled free and I reached for my dagger, grazing it before it clattered away when he took my wrist with a snarl, wrestling me down. My stomach wrenched at the scent of meat and copper, lips quivering above mine.

"_Be still_, I don't want to hurt you, Maria, not again, not again – just lay still and be good and we'll be together, you and me and mother, a family, a_ true_ family – "

"You're ranting again, Bellamont."

The door creaked open behind us, and his - Bellamont's head perked. I craned my neck to peer past him, trying to make out who had spoken as my breath rushed from me in panic. I could see no one until the door closed and the shape materialized, idly gazing at a ring before walking towards us and tossing over a length of rope.

"There you are." Another strangled whimper left me as he began to bind me tight, wrapping the ropes around to keep my wrists together. I fought like a wildcat, screaming, hissing, kicking, anything to get away. "Keep her _here_, necromancer. Lachance must pay before my work can be complete."

"Naturally." A little sound of surprise left me as my fighting stopped. I felt it sink in – paralyzation, digging creeping claws into my muscles. No, _no._ "I've muffled the room, but I'd prefer not to be there for your revenge exacting and all that nonsense. I shall wait out here, and prepare the ritual."

That voice, I _knew_ that voice. A distant memory that wasn't so distant at all. My skin crawled, eyes open wide and seeing, not comprehending. Robes, dark skin, red eyes cool and careless, attention turned to Bellamont. "Do _try_ not to die, I'm rather interested in finishing this little experiment."

_Experiment_, I thought wildly. _Experiment_…

Footsteps, and he moved towards me, kneeling slightly, head tilted. Dark bangs over his face, eyes slitted.

"Bolor."

He spoke, though kept his gaze on me before inclining his head. Impartial and cool. "Good evening, Dust."

_This_. I sat petrified, breath frozen in my lungs._ This is unreal, this can't be real, Bolor here and…_

"Good. Wait for me, my sweet." Another whisper, another hitch of my breath and shudder moving through me as at last he clambered off. "Be patient. Lachance must suffer, know nothing but pain, his whore must know what it is to lose her mother too but then, _then_ – "

An animal howl squeezed out of my throat, barely audible for the paralyzation giving my muscles such unyielding rigidity. No, no, they'd _die,_ I couldn't let him hurt them, I couldn't do anything to stop it…

He glanced over his shoulder at me then, face soft, so soft and loving and _sick_. "I'll end you slow this time, my love. Slow and gentle to bring you back to me."

He left the stable, left me helpless and bound. The paralyzation hissed away and I sunk back into the straw as Bolor took my bound hand. I flinched in pain as he slid a dagger – _my_ dagger, picked up from where it fell - through my palm in almost the same spot the Listener had, squeezing my hand around it to coat it well as I sobbed through my teeth.

"Bolor – what are you doing? _Why?"_

"A favour."

A favour. Those words rung familiar again. _The snuffing of a candle, a favour for a friend…_

"Bolor, please, I don't _understand_ – "

"I made my way South. I knew of a small clan of my fellows there." Impossible, so surreal to hear his voice again so crisp and businesslike. He took the sanguine dagger to the floorboards, using my blood to draw a small, faint circle around me. "I knew I couldn't leave you as a loose end but truthfully, I didn't know how to deal with you. Pure luck our mutual friend found me."

A scream, from the cottage. Maman. _No_.

"Bellamont came to us. He'd killed and burned the body of his lover and captured her soul in a gem. He begged us to restore her, but the corpse was beyond all repair." Finally, his gaze settled on mine. Like seeing him for the first time, kissing him for the hundredth, seeing the hurt and anger before he'd left me behind…

"Together, we came up with an interesting experiment."

Bellamont's lover. Maria. It came flooding back now, what Antoinetta had said. That poor girl.

"And for it, we needed a young woman who resembled her. Dark hair, blue eyes." A little shrug as he stood, the circle complete, and pulled out a pouch. The crackle-sting of ozone from void salts filled the air as he sprinkled them around me, following the same pattern. "Two birds, one stone. He would have what he wanted, and you would no longer be a concern."

"I _loved_ you," A haggard whisper. Crashing, more screams and a roar from one of them, if I could just get _free_, if I could –

He spoke on as though he hadn't heard me. "And the very possibility intrigued me, I must admit. I will attempt to guide and transfer the dead girl's soul to your emptied corpse, and restore her."

_No, no, nonononono __–_

_You must not panic, child._ An icewater chill dripped down my spine at a voice in my head. Not my own. Cool, gentle, soothing. _Your Family needs you._

"As I understand it, that Speaker he's always babbling about was to kill you and deliver your body to us. But you complicated things." And if the cold of his voice had hurt, his crooked smile, so familiar, hurt worse. "As you always seem to do."

_You were my first love,_ I whispered inside. _My first dear friend, my teacher. How could this – this can't be real, it can't _\- I tried to speak, but couldn't muster the energy. All that seemed so long ago, now.

_What matters now._ The voice spoke again, strangely different from mine. _Focus on now, granddaughter. You must get free._

"Did you want this, all this time?" Tears welled up and over as I spoke, pushing against the force of the ropes. They didn't give. "Did you _hate_ me so much, because I didn't go with you?"

"…No. No, Dust." His eyes softened, and for a moment I thought I saw the man I'd known before it vanished. "Because I feared you might follow, endangering me and mine. Because I value knowledge above all else, and because my art is my first love. I would have liked you by my side, once." He stood upright, a hand against the door. "But that was some time ago."

More screams, one cut suddenly short. Think, _think_. "I have to help them. Bolor, please. My mother is in there_, please_…"

He turned away. Another sob bubbled up in me before I swallowed it back, remembering what the voice had said. A tight swallow, a whisper.

"Why _J'__adore_?"

From behind I could see his shoulders rise and stiffen, hear him inhaling through his nostrils. After a long, still moment, he spoke. "It was Bretony. To love, to adore someone deeply. I thought it was suitable."

"Not anymore."

"No."

I gazed at him, searching, begging. "…But not hate, either."

"…No."

"My mother," I whispered. "My - " _My friend? My rival? My infuriating Speaker?_ "…I can't let them die. I have to help. Please, Bolor. If you felt for me like I did for you, if you ever cared, _please_…"

A breath, through his teeth. "Your compassion always was your folly, you know. You could have been brilliant. But it infected all of your work - in my classes, in your progression. With my creation at the university, because it was in pain."

I blinked away tears, the ropes creaking. "Please."

He turned. Eyeing me for a long, slow moment, lips parted. Whatever he had to say then died on his lips with a hiss of – remorse? Disgust?

"…_Fuck _this."

He turned back to Shadowmere now, hands coming to rest on her flank. With a start and a whinny she jerked conscious, moving to attack before his magicka flickered lighter, higher, and she went docile.

"I have no desire to be associated with a madman, no wish to anger the Dark Brotherhood. It will be simple enough to perform this ritual under my own power."

A tingle down my spine, my eyes going wide. "Bolor?"

He turned back to me, moving so fast I recoiled, and then a snap – the cut and pull of the ropes binding me falling away, freed with my dagger still stained with my blood. I stood shakily as he pressed the hilt into my hand, catching my breath, still not entirely understanding.

"And with this dry straw, all it would take is a spark…" He spoke now like he had in his lectures, what felt like so long ago. A surge of hurt, love, gratitude. _Teacher._ "To burn this and any evidence to ashes, long before he realizes I am gone. I will borrow this fine mare for the journey, though I'll send her back." A raised brow at me now, critical and reproving.

"Bolor – " I could almost have laughed, disbelieving. "_Thank _you."

"Goodbye, Dust. We will not see each other again."

Sparks fell from his hand into the pile of straw I'd abandoned. He mounted Shadowmere and with a shout they were gone, galloping into the night. Like hungry little insects the sparks multiplied and spread, jumping along the straw, clambering up the wall.

_Go, child._

I ran. Out into the snow as smoke began to rise, black ash on white, towards the cottage. Worse now for the silence until I came closer hearing a mad shrieking, laughter.

I burst through the door, into a nightmare.


	32. Chapter Thirty-Two

Blood. I'd never so intimately known the stench of blood, the heat of it, that copper tang and instinctive revulsion making my insides twist. The cottage was dim inside, the fire dead, and I made out only shapes and dark stains along the floor.

Mum. Laying prone near the wall, a visible splatter behind her. No, _no_ – but she was alive, thank all gods, alive because she pushed herself up at the moonlight that came in behind me. Face bloodied, collapsing back down as she whispered, begged.

"Dusty, _run._"

In the corner, movement. The traitor, crouched over Lucien slumped up against the wall, unmoving. He stood slowly, unnaturally slowly, his head cricking to one side before he turned to face me. A rictus grin and something between his teeth, glistening and white and wet and –

_Oh. Oh, gods._

A wet gnashing and he began to stalk after me, chewing slowly, laughing in his throat. I bit my tongue hard enough to taste blood so as not to retch, pulling my dagger from my belt, brandishing it like I knew how to use it.

I didn't.

I moved to stab as he came close and shrieked – he grabbed my arm and twisted, making me wail, half-shoving, half-dragging me back out through the threshold as he whispered in a sing-song voice. Beyond him, gut-wrenching, I heard maman scream my name.

"_Gabby!"_

"No, _no_, sweet Maria, this isn't for your eyes, no, you must stay pure, out here in the white and the cold." He seemed not to notice the fire, humming as he dragged me so easily and shoved me into the snow. I hit it with a hiss, trying to roll away, grab for my dagger again as it fell into the snow but in a moment he was on me, too quick, too quick…

_Be still._

Not his voice. The strange one, sweet and gentle and _who is that_, even as a part of me knew. His hands wrapped around my throat again as he straddled atop me, his weight keeping me down.

_I'__ll die,_ my thoughts frenzied, terrified as his fingers tightened and began to cut off air. He leaned in close as though to revel in my strangled gasp, lips dripping with blood and spittle and gods,_ I didn't want to die_, maman, Lucien, I'd failed them both and now –

_Patience, granddaughter. Be still._

What else could I do? Even as his grip tightened, as I felt my throat compress and bruise under his hands, I went limp. Staring up glassy-eyed, even as the pressure in my head built into a scream.

"Good. _Good_, Maria, you musn't fight me. Lay still, my love, and it'll all be over soon."

My mouth stayed open, trying to inhale air that I simply couldn't reach. My lungs burning, my fingers numb and yet somehow painful at the same time, sinking into the snow…

Feeling the edge of my dagger.

_Not yet._ That whisper, satin soft and dark as night, the one peace in my splitting head as my eyes watered, as I felt like there were sparks popping behind them. My chest roared in pain, a vacuum so empty as to feel about to explode. Slowly, so slowly, I wrapped my hand around the hilt.

"All I want is us, you know." His voice changed, becoming a croak, a shadow. "Let their whore mother lead them, I just want Maria back, just my Maria, make mother happy we can pretend. Slowly, my sweet…" I stared, shuddering as at the edges of his bloodshot, feverish eyes tears beaded, the remnants of what he'd devoured dripping onto my face. A retching pull as he leaned in close, close enough I could feel the heat of his breath on my mouth, as though for a kiss. "Let it take you, my sweet, and we can be…"

Mum screaming, calling my name. His breath, his whisper, the glimmer of tears and blood and spit as he sobbed, grip unwavering. Spots turning into shadows behind my eyes, devouring, my heart thrashing in a desperate bid for air. I'd _die_ here.

_**Now.**_

And somehow my fingers, numb and stiff, were curled around the blade embedded in his back. Somehow it must have moved true through him, the pushback of flesh and muscle and tendon through my arm as his hands slipped away. Another bubble of blood spurted up from between his lips, eyes going distant with surprise.

"… Mother?"

And in a sickly mocking of an embrace, he collapsed atop me.

I sucked in lungfuls of air. _Mum. Mum, Lucien, I…_ My thoughts came in fragments, each somehow shatteringly painful. My vision was still blurred, my limbs barely willing to respond as I tried to force him off of me with one hand, pulling my blade free with the other. He rolled away limp, and something fell from him into the snow.

I reached for it, pulled it free of the drift. Cold, icy cold and smooth and strangely shaped, humming with magicka and I…

I…

I let go.

Void. Icy cold and timeless, the stench of ash and billowing smoke, surely, all these things belonged to the void. But I didn't. Not yet.

I raised my head from the snow, trembling. Remembering. A retch left me, ripped from me, and I moved first in a crawl until I could manage to stagger to my feet.

_Lucien. Maman._

I broke into a run, stumbling into the little cottage, nearly collapsing against the door as I pushed past it inside. Silent, so silent no, please_, please _–

A weak inhale. Mother. I fell by her side, helping her sit up to rest against the wall. _"Maman."_ My voice cracked, sobbing with relief as she stirred.

"Dusty." Her beautiful hair always in a tight bun had come loose, clinging to a brow slick with sweat and blood. She moved to cup my cheek. "I thought – by _Sithis,_ how did you…"

"Shh. Save your strength, let me…" I moved her gingerly as she bit back a cry, wincing in sympathy. A deep gash in her belly and torn upwards, only stopped by the rib it met. One of her legs twisted wrong, almost entirely the wrong direction.

"Lucien first. I'll live, darling." A little hiss, one of her hands firm against the gash. Blood moved in rivulets, mercifully slow. He'd hit nothing vital. "Go to Lucien."

I tore myself away and moved to him, against the opposite wall. Mouth agape, but whether unconscious or in shock I couldn't tell, not with his face like this. With…

What Bellamont had been eating, crouched over him when I came in…

His eyes. Lucien's eyes, leaving only gaping dark holes behind. Blood caked along the side of his temple, in his hair, beneath a crack in his skull. I felt over him – cuts, so many cruel cuts made to inflict only pain, not to kill.

I renewed my spell, concentrating and feeling the tug from my energy as the spell fled to each of the wounds, sealing, knitting, weaving -

But his eyes. His eyes, I could never fix.

"Is he alive?" Mum's hoarse murmur from the corner. I stood, still shaking, kneeling beside her again as she lay back and took deep, shuddering breaths.

"Yes, but he – " Remembering the frenzied grin of glee, the sphere between his teeth and that horrific wet pop. Remembering how close those lips came to my own. "His eyes. The bastard took his _eyes_, I _can't,_ I'm not good enough to –"

"Shh, darling, it's alright. He'll live. That's enough." She pulled her hand from her stomach with a cringe. "Can you…"

"Hold still." I replaced her hand with my own. First, this wound – sealing it as best I could, coaxing tissue to tissue. It would hurt, it would slow her, but she wouldn't bleed out. At her leg I winced, meeting her gaze again. "We'll have to set it, maman. It's…"

"I know. Do whatever you feel is best. I trust you, _chérie._"

I did. Setting her leg even as she hissed between her teeth, even as I knew it must have caused her agony. Healing it as best I could with what little magicka I had, making a splint for good measure. The worst of their injuries cared for, I could focus on true healing now – bandages and salves, keeping away infection, keeping them from going into shock. A sort of numbness took over as I worked, only broken when, at last, Lucien stirred.

"Lucien." I fell to him, cupping his cheeks as he shuddered. I couldn't imagine the agony, even with my healing, my salves. "Lucien, can you hear me?"

"The traitor." His voice rough. "Where…?"

"Dead. I – " A trembling little inhale. Every breath still hurt, my throat raw inside like a wound. "I killed him. We're going to live, Lucien, all of us."

Silence. After a moment his hand rose to his face over mine, feeling the strangeness of it. Feeling, hearing, because he could do nothing else. His lips parted, but the silence remained.

I broke into a sob. "I'm so sorry, Lucien. I'm so, so _sorry._"

A clatter behind us. I flew to my feet with dagger still wet in hand, snarling, half-animal from fear and exhaustion and no one, _no one_ would hurt them like this again –

"Speaker!"

"My Silencer." Lucien's croak stilled me. A wince as he slowly stood, using the wall as support. From the threshold a stranger – an Argonian woman, pulling her hood back as she approached with eyes wide in horror. "Shaleez, what have you found?"

"I – Bellamont is the traitor, Speaker. His corpse is outside. I found evidence of his treachery, his mad ramblings, but the Listener, the Listener is _dead_."

A deadly hush. Mum broke it, finally able to get to her feet. "When was this?"

"Just days ago, but he was dead well before the Black Hand found him. The traitor, he framed you for it, Speaker – "

"He killed him, left his body for them to find. Then he attacked me." Mum, her voice distant. "And sent us running here."

"He would have killed you all, and when the Black Hand went to name a new Listener, invaded our Mother's most sacred tomb to assault her himself." A hiss from the Silencer, sheathing the long blade she'd drawn. "He planned it, from the beginning."

"We must go, _now,_ and prove our innocence." Lucien stumbled as he stood. I moved to help but the Argonian Shaleez was quicker still, taking her arm on his shoulders to bring him to his feet.

"What remains of the Black Hand gathers now in Bravil, to select a new Listener. The Night Mother has not granted them entrance."

"Then we go to Bravil." I turned instead to maman, helping her to her feet. She staggered and I barely caught her, holding my breath as she released hers in a curse. "Damn it all…"

_"Mum."_ All the strength in me had fled now and I gave little more than a whimper. "You and Lucien need _rest_. And we have no horse, Shadowmere is - " Lucien's head jerked towards the sound of my voice, and I winced. "…She…she's gone."

"Shadowmere is_gone?"_

"There was a Dunmer riding her. I intercepted him and he left her, vanished. She's outside, Speaker. She must have run from the fire in the barn and been stolen." I nodded dumbly, playing along with what Shaleez believed truth. Lucien exhaled through his teeth, a sound of relief and annoyance.

"Good. Take whatever we can use, and we'll go. Let us waste no time."

"But…" I trailed off, my argument sent uselessly off into the sky like the billowing smoke as we stepped outside. Even still the stable burned, Shadowmere and the Silencer's horse standing in the flickering lights of the blaze. The stench was thick and suffocating in the air, sparks jumping to die in the snow. But Bellamont was gone. "…Where did…"

"I threw the body in the fire. It will burn to nothing." Shaleez moved to the fire, grabbing hold of a piece of a fallen, burning beam and flinging it into the wall of the cottage. It smoldered before beginning to burn, climbing slowly up the wall. "There will be no trace of what happened here."

Mum nodded and did the same from the other side, further spreading the blaze to let it begin to devour the little cottage. And Lucien…

Left in the dark, he could only wait for his guidance to return. He stood with arms crossed, all for the world himself if it weren't for the deep shadows creased into his face, into the gapes of his eyes. I moved to him before stopping, frowning, my foot hitting something small and hard.

… A soul gem. What had fallen from Bellamont when I'd pushed his body away. Glancing to see Shaleez and mum with their backs turned I knelt and scooped it up from the snow. It tingled with power, with the song of human life. I shuddered, but - but I couldn't put it down.

_Yes, granddaughter._ I froze. That voice again, a gentle whisper almost amused in my ear. _Take it. Take it, and come to me._

I was too exhausted, too numb to question it. I slipped it into the pocket of my robe before moving to Lucien, wordlessly taking his hand.

"Lucien." What could I possibly say, to fix this? "I…"

"There. I will ride with Speaker Abelle." Shaleez and maman had finished. Already the cottage was being devoured, cracking and popping as wood splintered and caved into the flames. "My horse trusts none but me. Can you lead Shadowmere?"

"I – yes. Yes, I can."

"There's no time to lose."

He moved unsteadily and hand over hand, bodies close, I guided him onto the mare until he was astride. I expected him to brush me away, stubborn and proud - but what did pride matter?

I climbed up after him then, sitting in front and taking the reins, giving the mare a slow stroke before glancing back to the cottage. Licks of orange and red reached for the night sky. We rode off, leaving only coal ash on white snow and flecks of blood in our wake.

Lucien spoke of Sithis as nothingness. An empty chill, an endless shadow, a stolen breath. But I know it as fire. All-consuming, roaring and endlessly changing, endlessly chaotic, energy and potential. Fire and heat and hunger, the spatter-hiss of blood.

And in a motherly, loving whisper.

_Come to me._


	33. Chapter Thirty-Three

I crouched near the icy water of a spring, dragging my fingers idly through the burbling water. A week to travel - a week, if we could move well, to Bravil. We wanted to push ourselves, push ever forward, but our bodies began to drag, our poor horses slowed, then finally refused to move. So we rested.

At least, most of us did.

I gazed upward, giving a slow breath that turned into a white fog, drifting to a sky black and sparkling with stars. After the chaos and fear the night before, this peace seemed almost impossible. The whisper of reeds even now coated with frost, the white lace where ice could form on the still waters before the brook carried them again. The twin moons, one swollen, the other waning, casting our shadows long and pale.

A deep breath and I reached back into the water, gasping at the stark relief when I splashed it over my face, let it drip down my back. It felt deliciously cold, purifying. We were all still dirty from the battle, still aching and filthy. What a luxury it would be, to strip off here and bathe, even in the cold. And to get rid of the stench of smoke and blood, clinging to my body…

I stood and stripped, pulling my filthy robes over my head and folding them on a rock. My boots, my gloves - one by one I placed them all carefully by my side until I sat naked, gingerly dipping my toes into the cool, sweet waters. Lilies lay undisturbed on the water's surface, trickles of water falling in rushes and thin, shining lines to feed the spring. I caught a glimpse of my reflection and winced, bringing a hand to my throat.

On the glassy surface of the water I could see the dark, purplish bruises, encircling in the pattern the traitor's fingers had dug in around my throat. His voice in my head, making me shudder, making my stomach twist.

The pool was darkened and rippled when I moved, swallowing up all I'd seen in a mirror of the black sky. Only the reflections of the stars remained. With a quiet sigh I let myself slip in as far as I could up to my hips, dipping my head back. Cold, almost _painfully_ cold and enough to make me hold my breath, but it felt good. Stripping away the grime and the sickly feeling that had clung to me ever since that night of horror.

_I'll just stay long enough to get clean. Throw on my robe, warm up by the fire…_

"Dust?"

I jerked, looking over my shoulder and gasping at the dark silhouette before recognizing the shape of Lucien's robes. Even still, I was jumpy. The few times I'd managed to sleep had always brought back the traitor's face. "Wha - _oh_. I - I didn't know you were awake." I went to cover myself before remembering as he slowly approached. He moved cautiously, testing every step before taking another, following the sound of my voice.

"I am now." He inclined his head, frowning. "… I hear water."

"Th-there's a spring. Just a second, I'll…" I stood, trying to splash as little as possible, my cheeks burning. _If he knew I was…_

Lucien's expression changed, his brow lowering over dark holes, lips flattening into a tight line. "You're _bathing_."

I stilled. "Um."

"In the middle of the night, when the rest of us are sleeping, in a hostile environment with wolves and boars and Sithis knows what else, you felt it was wise to have a leisurely _bath_." He spoke dryly, carefully lowering himself to the ground nearby to sit.

"You'd bathe too, if you weren't a stinking Imperial pig." I froze, regret bubbling up with guilt. I'd meant it to tease, but with his robes still dirtied, face crusted with dry blood, any mirth was drained.

"Of course." Lucien scoffed, shaking his head. I couldn't entirely prevent myself from covering up as I stepped out of the water, tossing my robe over my head, not caring that I was still wet. _He's right,_ _idiot. You should have been watching, not trying to take a damned bath._ I chided myself, sighing and smoothing down my robes, buckling on my belt and fighting off the shiver already creeping into my bones from the cold. I grasped for something to say, anything.

"My toes really are webbed, you know." I wiggled one foot before dipping it in my boot and giving a quiet laugh as I lifted the other towards him. "See? …" He raised a brow, the holes of his eyes shadowed, and I cringed._Idiot!_

A snort. "Very tactful, pet."

"I'm sorry," I whispered. He gave a small, mirthless smirk as I studied his face. _He's acting_. Whatever exhaustion, whatever grief he felt, he wouldn't show. Not to me, not like this. His gaunt face, bloodied and scarred, the grizzle on his jaw laced with black where blood had dried. I bit my lip, unbuckling my water skin and dragging it through the pool. "…Let me wash your wounds again. It'll help prevent infection."

"Hmph." He grunted, leaning back, lips pressed tight before nodding. "Fine." Wordlessly he began to pull his robes off his body - I gasped, half expecting him to be naked – then shaking my head at myself. Of course he wore pants underneath, moving to kneel closer to where my voice came from, closer to the spring. His torso bared I could see evidence of the traitor's work, what I hadn't managed to heal, where bandages had soaked through. So many scars. So many stains.

I didn't let myself sigh, didn't make a sound. He didn't need that from me. A clean cloth pulled from my pouch, wetted with my waterskin and brought to his cheek. He startled a moment after I brushed it against his face before growling, his expression - as much expression as he could have, without his eyes - settled into one of annoyance.

Blood. So much blood and grime and fluid caked onto his cheeks, beneath the hollows of his eyes. It came away in black flakes on the damp cloth, streaking in rivulets. I followed the contours of his once handsome face - his chin and jaw, grimly set. His cheekbones, his proud nose, his thin lips. Small, thin lines carved into his flesh over the years. I frowned, tilting my head - I'd never wondered about his age before. He looked both old and young at once - the face of a man life had tried to beat, time and time again.

"How old are you?" I squeezed the cloth before dipping it again in fresh water, smiling at his scoff.

"Old enough. Perhaps old enough to retire, at this rate."

I frowned. "You don't look_ that _old."

A quiet laugh. "My age isn't the problem. What use is a blind man to the Brotherhood?"

I froze.

He continued on, unnervingly calm as I moved to wash the scars lacing his chest and back. "I cannot fight - perhaps after years of training, but I doubt I would survive that long. I cannot travel alone, now. I cannot even write. I am a lame dog."

"Don't talk like that."

"I imagine I will be put down as such. It would not be the first time we have made such sacrifices." His lips turned, a grim smile. "Don't fret over it, pet. I shall let the Night Mother determine my fate. I will do what I must for the Brotherhood. At the very least, that will prove I am no traitor to all."

"_Stop_ it," I hissed, pulling away the cloth, glaring sharply. "What, you're just going to - give up?"

"Give up?" He scoffed. "No. I'll face my fate with dignity. I - "

I don't entirely remember doing it. Only the moment after, his face marked red, my hand stinging. I swore, grabbing him by the shoulders while he impassively sat. "You bastard, you _cowardly_ bastard, I did not come all this way with you so you could just die with dignity!"

"It is not cowardice." His voice lowered to a growl and I shivered. "It is practicality. It is loyalty. I will make what sacrifices must be made, including myself. A lame dog slows down the pack. I will not allow myself to become that, I will _die_ first."

"You'll die for pride!?"

"I will die -"

I slipped my hand into his hair, tugging him close without thought. "Shut _up_, Lucien." And I kissed him as hard as I could.

Time passed, and we remained like that. He met my kiss with equal ferocity, then overpowered it, dipping my head back and forcing me to the ground, his hand sliding to lift the small of my back. Neither my mind or body hesitated, this time - I yielded under his weight, dragging my fingers over his cheek as he pulled away, smirking.

"Odd tastes you have, pet. A man with no eyes."

"I'm not letting you die." I scowled, refusing to let his laughter and smirk weaken me. "I don't care about pride. I don't care what the Dark Brotherhood says, what the Night Mother herself says..."

"Hrm." He tilted his head, and for a flickering moment I almost felt as though he gazed at me, could see the tears in my eyes. "And why is that, pet?"

I had no answer.

"We…" I faltered, moving my hands from his body and grabbing his robe, offering it. "We should get back to camp. Before we freeze."

"Fair enough." He fumbled with the robes for a moment before managing to pull them over his head, giving a weary sigh. "Go to sleep, then. Shaleez will awaken soon - I must speak with her."

"So you can name her your successor, something like that?" He remained silent. He walked alone, without aid, over the smooth rockshelf back to the dying fire. I growled, stalking after him, grabbing his shoulder. "Lucien - "

"Enough." There was no anger in his voice, only a cool calmness. "We will have plenty of time to argue on the way there. I shall be sick enough of you without you badgering me every night."

"…Fine." But I pulled myself close again, wrapping my arms around his waist. Embracing him - embracing Lucien, the murdering, charming bastard. I would have laughed if it hadn't felt so natural, so _right_. "But I'm not letting you die, not after all this. I've worked too gods damned hard." To my surprise his hands moved over me, resting on my back - to hold me closer or to possess me, I couldn't tell which, didn't care.

"We'll see, pet." Dry lips on my temple, a smirk pressed against my skin. "We shall see."

Bolor's eyes, a gleam in the dark. Lucien's darker still, clouded and in the hands of the traitor, hands somehow glistening with teeth like a maw and closing in and then those hands on my throat, breath hot and sick on my face and I'd die here, I'd die and there'd be nothing_ left_ and…

"Dust?"

It was only a whisper that left me as I jerked awake, begging, clutching my arms around myself tight. I fought free of the bedroll that held me to find mum crouched beside me, placing a gentle hand on my back as I sat up.

"You were crying out, in your sleep. I thought it best to wake you."

"I…" Still, my voice sounded so harsh and strange to my ears. It would heal, I knew, but the roughness was jarring, only further cementing the memories of that night. "I'm fine, maman. You should go back to sleep."

"It's almost time for my watch, anyway. Are you sure you're alright, _mon chou_?" Her eyes, one still a little swollen, lidded. She stroked along my cheek, gingerly tracing the fading bruise Bellamont's strike had left behind. I couldn't meet her gaze, instead catching her hand and squeezing it tight.

"I'll be fine." My voice cracked. Maman sighed, and I knew I couldn't hide it from her. Her, of anyone. As she met my gaze again I relented with a shudder, a whisper in the dark. Nearby Lucien slept, facing the fire as Shaleez patrolled the area. "… I just – I dream about it. I can't stop_ thinking_ about it."

"You did well,_ chérie. _You saved our lives. You were brave, and strong."

"I'm _not _strong." At last the dam broke. I gave a sob, leaning into her arms as she reached for me. "I can't stop – maman, I can't stop _seeing_ it, I was so scared, I was so _scared_ – " Weeping, hitching breaths through her soothing sounds. "And I heard a voice, Her voice, in my head telling me – "

She pulled back now, still cradling my head with one hand and running her nails through my curls with the other. The same things she'd do when I was a little girl to comfort me, hush me, even as she frowned. "A voice?"

"I – in the stable, and when Bellamont was on top of me, strangling me, I…" I hadn't told them yet, nor of the soul gem that lay still in my robes "I heard a voice. A whisper. Telling me what to do. It told me to lay still. If I'd fought…"

If I'd fought, my hand would never have hit the dagger. I truly would have died that night, his hands wrapped around my throat, whispering some other poor woman's name.

Maman's face softened, and she brushed a loose lock from my brow with a sweet smile. "The Night Mother protected you. It was Her voice that guided you, I'm certain."

The Night Mother. I'd known it, but didn't want to say. Didn't want to admit it, even now. A shudder crawled through me. I let my gaze wander up to the blueish horizon. We were well down the Red Ring Road, now. It wouldn't be too much longer to Bravil. To Her.

We were close enough to the Imperial City that I could see the towers, the magnificent walls, cast out tall and mirroring on the Lake Rumare. I could even pick out the spire of the Arcane University, to the Southeast.

A flicker of nostalgia, sputtering like a dying flame. "I can never go back to that life, can I?"

She followed my gaze, lips tightening, hand seeking out mine to squeeze. "It wouldn't be the same, my dear. You've changed, since then. You've grown."

I nodded. Suddenly, completely, exhaustion took hold. I let myself sink back down to the bedroll, sighing as mum's hand followed to stroke my hair. "Maman?"

"Yes_, ch__érie_?"

"Do you remember the song you taught me?" I hummed the tune, the same I had before in the Sanctuary, smiling through tears as she chuckled above me and picked it up herself.

"_J'ai perdu mon ami sans l'avoir m__érité._

_Pour un bouton de rose que je lui refusai...__…"_

I joined in for the second verse, voice wavering and rough.

"_Je voidrais que la rose f__û__t encore au rosier._

_Et que mon doux ami f__û__t encore __à m'aimer..."_

We finished the song together. A kiss laid on my cheek and mum pulled the thick layers of the bedroll up, cloaking me again. "Try to sleep, now."

I let my eyes drift closed, thinking of the song, of the distant tower on the horizon I'd once called home. Of all my old dreams and hopes, of Bolor's goodbye and kissing Lucien, our faces still wet and chill from the spring.

The rose couldn't go back on the briar. Whatever I'd been, however innocent and naive, whoever that was – she was gone. Or, maybe, grown into something new. Regret was pointless, and only brought heartache.

I let sleep take me again.


	34. Chapter Thirty-Four

Small blessings.

A blessing the weather was good, that we could travel quickly. A blessing that in the cool nights, amidst the shade of the woods, we could afford to rest ourselves and our poor horses. A blessing we weren't found, even as we neared Bravil at last.

Small blessings. I didn't know who to thank for them.

"Bravil." Lucien's voice broke our silence at last, jerking me out of a near doze. "I'd recognize that stench anywhere."

"Yes, Speaker." Shaleez stared ahead, eyes narrowed. "They will be here. If they will give us time to explain, to show proof…"

_"If." _Mum snorted, her voice hoarse and weary. "I suppose that's the best we can hope for."

I only nodded as they spoke, following Shaleez down the rickety bridge to the city gates. The noise around us after silence was strange - crickets chirping, water rippling, trees whispering. Distant shouts and drunken hollers, an infant wailing. From time to time, I placed a hand on my pocket, feeling the stone of the soul gem inside it. It comforted me, somehow - I felt as though it was meant to be with me. I fingered it now as we left our horses in the stables, mum staggering to her feet and groaning as Shaleez helped Lucien off Shadowmere. I stole a glance, gripping the stone tightly, a voice echoing in my head.

_Come to me._

"Let's - " Maman began to speak, blinking and giving a grunt of pain as her legs buckled beneath her.

_"Mum!"_ I whirled around but Shaleez was already there, supporting her weight as she sighed.

"Saddle-sore, that's all. I can hardly feel my legs…"

"I'll aid you, Speaker Abelle, if that is your wish." The Silencer inclined her head as mum croaked a laugh, offering her arm for support before glancing at me, then to her Speaker. She'd spoken little, over these past days – I barely knew her. But still, I could see it hurt her to see him like this. "And you…?"

I nodded, taking Lucien's hand as his lips pressed tight into a thin white line. He grimaced, and I winced. I half expected him to shout, to tell me to stop trying to lead him around and care for him like a child. But a shiver moved down my back as he gently squeezed my hand. That, somehow, was far more horrifying than the thought of him shouting. Was it tenderness? Was it friendship? Some sign of thanks, before facing the Night Mother? Or was it just a simple measure of comfort?

_What do I want it to be?_

I followed Shaleez as she supported mum, aiding her when she moved back onto her feet. Whispers between them - I couldn't quite hear it, over the noise of the swamps, drunken shouts. The city was dark, a ramshackle of planks pinned together overhead lit only by the occasional lantern. I swallowed a lump in my throat, looking around as we moved. "What if we're seen…?"

A harsh laugh from Lucien. "That hardly matters now. And the few guards that would patrol this time of night do not - take offence to the presence of our kind. We are safe." The humour in his voice faded as we walked, keeping pace behind Shaleez and maman. "…For now."

Torchlight. A ring of torches. I frowned, squinting as we moved through the battered shacks towards the light. My blood ran cold as shadows became figures - cloaked, robed figures, garbed in black. A woman bowed before the statue, seeming to mutter to herself feverishly, before being jerked out of her reverie by one of the others. She stood, and her piercing gaze moved to Shaleez. "You are late, Silencer. You - " Her gaze moved past him, to us, and her hand flew to her dagger, eyes flashing. "Traitor! How _dare_ you show your face here - "

The snick of unsheathed blades, eyes of hate pinning on us, gleaming. Fear raced up in me and I squeezed Lucien's hand all the tighter as Shaleez stepped forward and held a book aloft, rasping.

"Speaker Lachance is innocent! Bellamont was the traitor, and now he lays dead."

"Bellamont?"

Whispers, murmurs between the remaining members of the Black Hand. One I didn't recognize, an Altmer woman, scoffed before the Khajiit – who, I remembered with a strange little half-laugh, had called me a serving wench – took it in hand. A moment of stillness as he read, all of us holding our breath.

"They speak the truth, Arquen." He turned to the others, passing the book to the Altmer woman. "It's all here, scrawled in blood."

"And if it is a forgery? We cannot afford even the chance of weakness, of this, this – _infection_. Not Lachance or the Breton whore. We kill them, _now._"

No one moved, at first – or so I thought. Even then, I didn't realize_ I_ had until I was stalking over. Maman was right – I had changed, had grown. Snarling, not brave but filled with righteous anger for this stranger who'd maligned my mother, fierce love and protection. "I killed Bellamont _myself, _you piss-skin_ bitch_. And do you really think Lucien would pull out his own fucking _eyes_, for the sake of treachery?!"

It was like she saw him for the first time then. Her face paled, jaw hanging open for a moment before her gaze snapped back to me. Her features curled, the edge of her dagger catching a glint of torchlight as she gestured towards me with a hiss. "Watch your tongue, little girl, or expect to lose it to my blade."

I took another step, snapping, bestial, "You can gods damned well _try_ – "

"Enough." Maman's hand on my arm stilling me, her voice so cold it sobered me, made my anger and resolve wither away. I moved back to Lucien as she stepped forward. I'd always known maman was strong but now I could hear it, steel in her words.

"None of you have been granted entrance?"

"That's correct." A Dunmer now, another whose face I didn't know. A chill ran through me – just as Bellamont had replaced Blanchard, as maman had replaced Ulvani, they'd already chosen others to replace her and Lucien. Or so they'd tried to. "We've been here for some time, but…"

"I will speak to her."

"What makes you think _you_ – "

"Enough, Sister." J'Ghasta, placing a hand on Arquen's shoulder as she straightened and scowled. "It is the only path we have left."

Reluctantly, the Altmer stood aside. Mum moved close and knelt before the statue they surrounded, torches lighting it from all sides. The Lucky Old Lady. Her legend rippled in my memory, one of many papa passed on.

A little girl, alone and orphaned, was told by a priest of Stendarr that she had kind eyes. That she was a child of that god of Mercy, and from there her life was one of fortune and luck.

Maybe papa had wanted the same for me, tried to give me that in my name. Gabriel._ Stendarr is my might_. I shook my head and hugged myself tight as their voices rose in unison, a haunting plea.

"Dearest mother, we, your lost and misguided children, seek entrance into your most unholy tomb and womb. We beg, dear mother…"

A dull chorus. "Unholy Matron…"

Lucien murmured it as well - it occurred to me that I was the only one who hadn't. And I was afraid.

The chanting continued, strange words drifting into the sky like smoke. And slowly, something began to change. The statue twisted - becoming deformed, crippled, ugly and strange. From a kindly mother to a crone, hunched and wrinkled.

Was the face of the Lucky Old Lady a lie, then? The blessing of Stendarr, a lie? Or were they one and the same?

The grating of stone made me flinch - an opening appeared beneath the statue, leading into darkness. One by one the Speakers began to silently descend.

"…You are not one of us." Lucien's hoarse voice jerked me out of my thoughts. "The Night Mother may not welcome your presence. Stay outside and - "

"No." Mum spoke without turning, her voice growing distant as she descended into the darkness of the pit. "She will come with us."

That settled it, then. I had no choice, even if I had wanted to stay outside. I wouldn't let mum go in there without me - I had come this far, after all. Still, fear slowed my steps. I couldn't tell whether I was guiding Lucien or whether he guided me, but I didn't let go of his hand even as we descended.

The room - _no_, I realized, _it really is a tomb_ \- was small, adorned with sprigs of nightshade, somehow alive even underground, and the tiny, fragile bones of children. We were crowded together. I must have been trembling - maman placed a hand on my shoulder, squeezing it tight and murmuring a word of comfort before moving, head held high.

"Sweet Mother, we stand before you now. Please, grace us. Anoint a Listener that we may cleanse the sickness the traitor has wrought. "

At first, I thought nothing would happen. The moments of silence moved painfully slow, my fingers growing numb. Even underground in the stifling, wet warmth of Bravil, the tomb became cold as ice. I felt a hand pressing on my back as the others moved to kneel, and followed. I winced, shifting uncomfortably against the stone, shivering as the tingle of magicka made my skin crawl.

I knew then, irrefutably, that she was there. Magicka took form, swirling in place, until there before us she stood. She looked like the ghost of any other woman - a mother and wife, small, plain. But the air of power around her made my ears ring. I took a slow breath as the voice, her voice, echoed in the tomb.

"My sweet, foolish children." Her voice was calm and gentle, almost pitying. "You have called me, and I have come. You ask me to anoint a Listener? I shall do so gladly." A smile grew on the woman's lips - I dared to look up, catching her gaze for a moment, and felt a thrill race through my body. "Now that we have cut away the rotting flesh of the Black Hand, restoration may begin. I hope you have learned from this, children. In truth, your 'traitor' served my purposes well."

…_What?_ I was not the only one to look up in confusion. She only smiled.

"I knew of Bellamont's intentions from the moment his mother died at our hand, when he was but a boy. I knew what purpose he would serve. He has sickened the weak among you, and the weak have rotted. Now we carve the flesh, and begin anew. Much is changing, my children - the Dread Father has seen in the reflections of the Void what lies ahead."

_She allowed this_. I shuddered, hugging myself for little comfort._ She let all of this happen._

"You have all suffered, and become stronger for it. Allow me to reward my most deserving children." The Night Mother seemed to smirk, her gaze casting over us. I froze as it seemed to focus on me, withholding a sigh of relief as she spoke. "Lucien. Come to me."

Blind, Lucien stood, moving to the Night Mother as though in a trance. Maybe he was. I dared to watch.

"Lucien Lachance, son of Sithis, receive now your reward for your loyalty." Lucien bowed his head, and she brushed her fingers against his brow. "The traitor has taken your eyes, but I shall give you a much more precious form of sight."

"You honour me, dearest Mother." The pull of magicka grew stronger - restoration magic, eerily similar to what I'd known at my father's knee in the chapel, healing. He turned, and for a moment I thought she'd only restored his eyes - but they were different. Darker, irises black. They hardly seemed to catch the light. He stepped away, bowing, reverent.

"And you, child. Granddaughter." My breath caught in my throat as I felt her eyes move to me, and remain. "It is time we met." I didn't think I'd moved but suddenly I was standing there before her, as though I'd never been anywhere else. "I have so few grandchildren, and it pleases me to see them." She smiled, and with cold fingers touched my cheek. I shuddered as she brushed away a lock of hair, and tilted my chin to force me to meet her gaze. "But you have something that belongs to me."

Panic welled in my throat - I had no idea what she meant, and could only stutter. "I don't - !" I watched, eyes wide as the soul gem I'd kept nestled in my pocket appeared in her hands. "…Oh."

She took it in her luminous hands, caressing it, then laying a kiss so gentle it seemed like that of a new mother on an infant's brow. A whisper. "Be free, daughter. Find your rest in the Void."

And something – a whisper, a song, a cry all at once, something seemed to spark and leave the stone like a final breath. There was a collective shiver through us as we watched, feeling the spirit leave us, feeling her pass on.

"She rests with her Father, now. But…" The Night Mother gazed at me, slanted eyes glittering. "I would not send you away empty-handed, granddaughter. And I believe - yes." A quiet, almost dainty laugh. "Yes, that will do well." The stone seemed unchanged as she offered it, but as I took it, rolled it in my hands, I felt the weight and warmth of life within.

_Whose soul…__?_

"And now, children. I name your Listener."

I stepped away, still shaking, gasping as my back hit Lucien's chest. They all stood, now, watching, waiting, with bated breath. She looked over us, before giving a sweet smile to -

_No._

"Abelle." She spoke at last, opening her arms to my mother. "You shall rule the Black Hand. You shall serve as my Listener." A shiver of disquiet moved through us, and I trembled.

"Dear daughter, come to me."


	35. Chapter Thirty-Five

"_Mum…"_

"_It's going to be fine, mon chou. I have been given an honour beyond imagining. I must follow it. I must. But I will come see you, I promise. I'll be watching over you always, just as the Night Mother has watched for us in our struggles."_

"_Don't – don't talk like that. I don't want the Listener. I want you, maman."_

I couldn't extract one from the other. She was both now intertwined, and I…

I wandered from the fire towards the mouth of the cave, once more on the Red Ring Road now winding to the Northeast. _Home_, I thought dully. Another day or two of travel, and we'd be home.

_And then what?_

_The same as before. I'll run my shop, help who I can. I'll work for the Brotherhood _\- maman made it clear that wouldn't change. That for the sake of harmony in her Family, we had to honour the agreement I'd made. Even now, I couldn't go back to my old life. She held me, told me I could be safe and happy there, to make the best of it and I…

Did I even want that, still? Could I go back to that and be happy, after everything?

_The same as before, and somehow everything's changed. Everything's changed and I have to pretend like it hasn't._

"Dust?"

I didn't turn to him. Didn't dare. It was just he and I travelling together now, and I'd hardly spoken a word since that night. Not since I'd had to say goodbye.

Maman had duties now, not just to her Sanctuary as when she'd been Speaker, but to the Brotherhood as a whole. She would stay on in Bravil for a few days, perhaps a week, dealing with the chaos left in the traitor's wake. Then she'd go home to Kvatch, returning regularly to the tomb where it had all happened that night...

Under the eyes of Stendarr's Lucky Old Lady, over the tomb of the Night Mother. Papa's god, once again undermined by my mother's. I could almost laugh at the irony of it all, the pattern stretching on even now in my life.

A little more firmly now, behind me. "Dust."

Too much. It was all too much to comprehend, too much hurt, too much anger, even too much gratitude that through it all we were still alive, and so I retreated inside myself because I, I just –

A hand on my shoulder, wheeling me to face him. I averted my gaze past him, unwilling to meet his, the new darkness of his eyes. The strange way they never quite seemed to catch the light.

The Night Mother hadn't just restored his sight. She'd given him a gift, a blessing for his loyalty that suited both his disposition and his role. He could, in some sight beyond my understanding, grasp what a person wanted in that moment. What they needed, craved. For a man who brokered deals of death, brought new Family into the fold, the blessing would be invaluable.

And I didn't want him to see me. Not now. Still, I didn't fight when he took my cheek in hand, tilted my head so our gazes would meet.

I expected anger. But something softened in the look he gave me, and his voice left a low murmur.

"Your mother has been given the greatest honour any of us could strive for. Her loyalty has proven her worthy."

A sob spilled from me, surprising me. I thought I had nothing more to give. "… Will she be safe? Will she be _happy_?"

"She is now the living conduit between our matron and this plane. Always, she will hear Her whispers, Her voice. I cannot promise she'll be safe but happy – yes. Any one of us would be."

Any of them, their Family. My breath hitched in my throat, choking until I let it peter out into a shuddering sigh. "And will I see her again?"

At that, the corner of his mouth quirked. "Her duties as Listener will undoubtedly keep her occupied, but also offer certain privileges. Being what you are to her, she will find the time."

"Why didn't she let me _go, _Lucien?" I placed my hand over his on my cheek, squeezing hard enough it almost hurt, but he didn't flinch. "She could have, couldn't she? Let me go back to my old life, everything – everything I was. Back to the Imperial City and…"

"Is that what you want, really?"

He didn't have to look in my eyes for the answer. I knew I couldn't. I'd known since that night with her, staring at the towers of the city, that it was impossible.

A rumble from his throat and he turned, moving back to the fire. I lingered a moment at the mouth of the cavern, reaching out into the downpour that ran in sheets outside, letting the water hit hard and cold in my hands, welling there. Splashing my face, dragging wet fingers through my hair so cold rivulets ran down my neck. Only then did I return to the warmth of the fire, casting flickering shadows on the ridged walls of the cave.

Hardly a cave at all, really. Little more than an alcove carved into the rock face, with clear evidence it had been used as a shelter in the past. Logs pulled up into convenient places to sit around a long blackened firepit…

Strange. "I feel like – like this place is…"

"Familiar? It should be." I moved to sit opposite of him, like I was afraid to get too close. Still skittish, still tired of – I couldn't put it into words. What had I expected? Of course maman would stay. Of course things couldn't go back to how they were. I perked up as Lucien spoke again, a faint smirk on thin lips. "We took shelter here, when we first – travelled together."

"When you kidnapped and drugged me, you mean." I was almost taken aback by the sound that left me, a little, croaky laugh. On a whim I reached for my belt, pulling free the symbol of – of everything. What had freed me, what bound me, what saved my life.

An arched brow. "You kept it."

I let the blade fall flat to rest in my palm, running my thumb over the grooves, the gold on ebony. Though I'd cleaned it well, in the engravings I could still see traces of black, dried blood. "Yes."

Mine, from the blood Bolor took for the ritual? The traitor's? Or perhaps even a victim of my mother long, long ago. Maybe all of those mingled, traces of each and every taste from over the years bonding as one.

"What now?"

That brow stayed high for a moment longer before lowering. "We will return to Cheydinhal. I will resume my duties as Speaker and you, I imagine, will reassume running your quaint little business."

Impossible. It seemed so impossible that after everything, now we would just return to what had been like nothing had changed at all. I inhaled, uncertain what I wanted to do – to snarl or curse, weep or bicker – and then I met his gaze and drew a breath, a tingle up my back.

_Something_ has_changed._

I changed sides, moving around the fire to sidle in beside him as he shifted to give me room. And as though it were the most natural thing in the world, his arm wound around to pull me closer.

Comforting. The crackle of the fire, the constant rush of the rain hitting stone outside. And his arm around me, warming me, the scent I'd grown familiar with making my shoulders slump.

_It'll be okay._ A fragile little smile formed in spite of myself, not certain I believed my own words. But I had to. I had to believe, or I'd go mad. _She'll be okay. She's not gone for good. And I have my shop, and my life._ My fingers rose to the edge of my throat, violet bruises fading brown now, before I let my head fall against him. _And I have – whatever this is, here. At least for now._ Snuggling closer to him with a little sigh, trying to shake off fears and worries until his hand came to rest over mine. A moment of touch, then he traced his fingertips up my throat, under my jaw.

"It – it doesn't hurt anymore. Not really." A flush crept up my cheeks and all the bravado I'd thrown at him in the past months I'd known him vanished with a shiver. I searched for something to talk about, gaze flickering away, feeling the heat glow harder from me as he gave one of those low purrs of laughter.

"Are you going to keep looking away for the rest of the night, pet, or are you going to simply tell me what you _want_?"

A surge of heat, not from the fire but inside clambering up, giving me new strength. I dared, turning, linking my arms around his shoulders and pulling myself up into his lap to meet his gaze. Witch hazel and smoke and leather, dark eyes and a crooked smile, a single brow quirking in challenge.

I paused. For a moment my jaw shook, my breath coming out in a little shiver. "You can see it. Can't you?"

"I could have seen it _blind_."

"… Are you going to _give _me what I want?"

His smile turned wolfish. "Ask _nicely_, pet."

A disbelieving laugh. I didn't ask, not in so many words. I grabbed the front of his shirt and crushed my lips to his. His hand found its way into my hair, the other down the front of my bodice…

And I decided that, for all my fear and confusion of what lay ahead, I knew what I wanted _now_. Whether it would last, whether it was a mistake…

Everything else could wait, at least a little longer.


	36. Chapter Thirty-Six

The first thing I did when we came home was go to the market.

I was getting better at handling the nightmares, letting images of the traitor's face fade with the bruises around my neck. It seemed distant in sunny Cheydinhal, deceptively bright on the bitter cold days, only to seem frighteningly real when flashes of memory returned. Still, they came less and less.

But the memory of helplessness, of terror –_ that_ remained.

Maman said the Night Mother saved us. That she guided my hand.

And if she hadn't?

_If she hadn't, I'd have died there. We all would have_. I strolled through the town with a full purse jingling at my hip and a mission in mind. _Even if things are quiet again, I don't want to risk..._

Remembering maman's screams, those hands around my throat. I stopped in my tracks for a moment, squeezing my eyes shut_. No, you won't haunt me. Not like this. I won't ever let that happen again._

My spells were, for the most part, made for healing and practical use. I could cast the beginnings of frost and fire, enough to freeze a bottle or light a hearth, but nothing destructive enough for combat. I had some potions I'd invented that could poison or sedate but without plenty of warning and distance to throw, they were useless. And a poisoned dagger, no matter how lethal, meant nothing if I couldn't actually strike.

So the first step was a proper weapon. Using maman's dagger felt –_ wrong_, somehow. It had tasted so much blood over the years, and now it had become more a symbol to me than a tool. And besides, even holding it now made me think of…

Of that night.

_It won't happen again, not if I can help it_. I grit my teeth, hand moving automatically to my throat. Though my spells and time passed had reduced the bruises to only fading brown splotches, I didn't want to take chances and wore my collar high. _I just need to find something easy, something I can protect myself with._

The smell of the smithy left me wrinkling my nose. Coal, molten metal, smoke noxious in the air. The clang of iron on stone, the hiss of the bellows. A boy practically dove past me with an armful of ingots, face red and sweat sticking to him even in the cool autumn air, before turning on his heel. "Sorry! Y'looking for the blacksmith, miss?"

"If she's available?" A flash of a grin and the boy was gone, ducking under the sign and calling out to his employer. The face that came out was a familiar one, the same Dunmer woman I'd argued with over the work due for my cauldron. It'd been worth the extra coin for perfection – even a slight bump could cause an overly hot spot, scald and char, ruin a formula…

"You again." She was drenched in sweat. It clung to her upper lip, her brow and covered those muscular forearms that crossed. Funny, our work so similar but so different. Slaving all day over hot tools, dangerous chemicals, but I certainly didn't need muscles like _that _to work a pestle. "Is it that fetching cauldron? Because I tell you, it's the best stupid pot I've ever put out – "

"A cauldron is _not _a pot and it's perfect, thank you." I grinned. Something I was beginning to learn quickly, living in a city of Dunmer – many had little tolerance for Nibenese pleasantries. "I'm very pleased with it. I actually wanted to look at your weapon selection."

She looked down on me, brows raised, then gave a scoff and a shrug. "And what would you be in the market for, Miss Alchemist? Giant pestle, maybe?"

"…Wouldn't that just be a club?"

"_What are you looking for."_

And here came the hard part. "I – I'm not actually totally sure. I'm looking for something small enough for me, something that won't be too difficult for me to use, but that doesn't need me to be too close to the – the target, either."

For a moment I feared she was going to laugh me out of her smithy. Then the brows lowered, lips pursed and she looked me over with an appraising eye. Or at least, I thought so, except it seemed to be _behind_ me instead of –

"Ooh! Shopping for something shiny, Dusty?"

I took a deep breath of the smoke-tainted air to steel myself and turned, regretting it as it came out in a sputtering cough. And Antoinetta, in all her golden-curls and glory, just grinned back at my frown. "I'm – _eugh_ – I'm trying to pick out a _weapon,_ actually."

"Oh, I wouldn't know anything about all _that_." She kept up the act as the blacksmith rolled her eyes and disappeared into the shop proper, muttering something about bringing out a few options. Only then did her face change, more serious, more certain.

"You're even shorter than _I _am and you've got no experience, so you want something stabby, alright? No swords, not even a shortsword. Too much swinging, you'd tire out. A dirk knife or a stiletto or something. Something you can jab and get in and out. That's how _I _started, anyway."

"I'm barely an _inch_ shorte – " The rest of her speech sunk in, left me blinking. Even now it felt so strange to hear something like that come from her. Harder still as she tilted her head and giggled when the smithy returned, carrying a few different weapons.

"Shortsword's basic enough. You don't like how something looks, you slap it with the sharp edge until it stops looking." I remembered Netta's words and gave a hesitant shake of my head, feeling a flush creep over me as the woman frowned. "Right. Dagger's probably a little too close-quarters, more made for throat-slitting."

"I think – I just want something for self-defense. Something…" I tried not to make a face. "… Stabby?"

"Stabby," she echoed, then snickered under her breath. "Alright." The other two she placed aside on a table, showing the last. Almost a dagger but narrower, longer than mum's blade with a wicked looking tip. "Dirk knife. Usually more of a sidearm, but for you? Should do fine."

"Ooh, _that's _a shiny little thing." And there was my cue. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes at Antoinetta over my shoulder, instead nodding and taking the weapon in hand. Light, almost lighter than mum's dagger, but differently balanced.

"I think this will do. How much?"

"Hundred-and-twenty, if it pleases Miss Alchemist."

"Bit steep." I still had a good chunk of gold left from maman's generosity, but I wanted to keep some stowed for emergencies and I'd lost a few weeks of business when we left the city.

"Oh, Miss Alchemist can't afford it? Pity, then."

"Dusty – " Antoinetta interjected but she stopped at my look, frowning as I turned to eye the smith again. Furnishing my home and bartering with customers over the last weeks had taught me a few tricks.

"Do you use fire salts for tempering?"

The Dunmer's eyes narrowed. "For higher grade pieces, like your damned cauldron. _Why."_

"Refined, I assume? Must be expensive to get them refined in the Imperial City and shipped all the way up here, they're so temperamental. They need special care. But if you bought them wholesale unrefined, and had them refined _here_…"

A smirk curled her lips and she straightened, regarding me as I held back a grin of my own. _Yes! _"Give me numbers, girl."

"Let's say I'll refine three gallons of salts if you'll give me the blade for sixty flat. If you're interested in continuing our partnership, we can renegotiate for my services then. Save you a good bit of gold over time, wouldn't it?"

"Hm. Seventy."

"Done."

My new purchase attached to my belt, I left behind the smoke and iron for the clear, cold air of the road, examining it in the light. Simpler than mum's, certainly. No engravings, only smooth steel, sheathed in a simple leather scabbard. I took that as a good sign. I didn't need complicated.

"Look at you!" Antoinetta followed me without hesitation, grinning and giving me a pinch on the arm. Funny – in every day clothes, she looked so sweet. Like she ought to be a barmaid at the tavern, winking and giggling at patrons. "Bargaining, huh? I didn't think you had it in you."

"I picked up a thing or two from maman." She kept pace with me, and I relented with a sigh. _"Hi,_ by the way."

"Well, hello to you too." A pout, her brow lowering. "You're lucky I was passing by. You'd never have known what to get without me. I'm mad at you again, by the way."

I bit back a giggle. "What did I do this time?"

"It's what you _didn't _do." A roll of her eyes. "It's been almost two days and you haven't come to see us at home, at _all_. We were worried, you know. You and you-know-who vanishing, then him coming back all in scars and you with those bruises – "

I stiffened, turning a glare on her. "How did you know about those?"

"… Well, alright, so I _didn't_ just pass by. I've been keeping a bit of an eye on you. Just out've love, Dusty-doo!"

"Do _not_."

"I'm just saying, it would've been nice to hear from you, get some reassurance. By the way, you're really easy to follow. You hum all the time. _All _the time."

"I – Antoinetta, I was _tired,_ and I didn't have any potions to deliver and…" … And I was scared. Scared to be apart from them, but also scared to get too close.

I'd well avoided Lucien since we'd returned. Those nights of travelling, of – of our time together, they felt almost dreamlike now. Like if exposed to the light of day, they'd dissolve as a morning fog in afternoon heat.

And whether that would be a relief or a loss, I couldn't say.

"It's not about potions." A little smack on my arm. I shot her a glare, then softened. Dammit, those big, stupid, sad puppy eyes. Deadly as her dagger, surely. "I know you're not Family, but I thought we were at least _friends._ And friends _talk,_ right?"

Friends. As much as it felt strange to admit it – yes. She was my friend, or at least the closest I had in this strange new life I was making. She made me laugh, and in spite of our spats we got along. And in her own way, she seemed to care.

_Dammit._ I let out a long sigh. "… I'm sorry, Netta. You're right. I've just been avoiding the – the _home _– " Even for how quiet the street was, I wasn't taking any chances in using their terms. "I just – I don't think I could really… it's… _Miles,_ you know?"

"Miles _– ohhh_." Recognition in her voice, in the glint of her eyes as she grinned and gave me another light smack on the arm. "Well? What happened?"

"Would you stop _hitting_ me!?"

"Alright, come on. We need some privacy, and _you_ need to practice with that shiny new toy of yours, anyway." She took me by the hand. To any onlooker, we were probably quarrelling sisters as she dragged me towards the house above the Sanctuary, chattering all the while over my protests.

"Netta – "

She kept shushing me, not letting in a word edgewise until we were well past the back entrance of the house and headed into the Sanctuary proper, me shrinking near that pulsing Black Door. It closed behind us with a slow rumble and heavy thud, punctuated by Antoinetta's gleeful giggle.

"Oh, I can't _wait _to show you all the best tricks! How to get under the ribs, or how to hit right in the lung –" She pulled the knife from my grip, tossing it hand to hand with the practiced ease of someone who knew such blades well. "Come on!"

At least we seemed mostly alone. The Sanctuary's pet rat skittered over to Antoinetta for a few crumbs, Teinaava read in the corner of the common room and M'raaj-Dar shot us a scowl on our way to the training room, but thankfully no sign of _him_. Relief, yes. But also disappointment.

_If he looked in my eyes right now._ I trailed behind Antoinetta in thought, hugging myself for a moment. _If he looked and saw me, my desires, what would he see?_

"Alright, we're alone. Ocheeva's in town, and the Speaker's gone on business. _Spill_ it." She wheeled on me, hands on her hips. "I just heard scraps. Did you really kill the traitor, Dusty? All by yourself?"

Not by myself. But maybe next time, I would be alone. A flash of icy cold at my back, colder hands around my throat. The stench, the fear, Her cold whisper in echo. I squeezed my eyes shut, stepping back. "I – I don't really…"

I expected badgering, irritation, the pout. But no. Instead her eyes softened, a strange maturity in them as she relented.

"'S okay. It must've been scary for you. You don't have to talk about that, if you don't want to." A more fragile smile now, crooked and strange. "Believe me, I know all about bad memories. But you'll learn to defend yourself like I did, and then no one will _ever_ be able to hurt you again." A viciousness on her last few words, almost enough to make me recoil. Not towards me, but towards whatever haunted her. Whatever made her take up a blade against the world.

The smile returned full-force then as she stepped back in, almost leering. "But you _do_ have to tell me what's going on with you and 'Miles."

"Didn't Ocheeva talk to you about _boundaries_?"

_There_ was the pout. "Ocheeva's just grumpy being stuck inside as the Sanctuary Mistress all the time. We're _alone_, Dusty. Nobody's going to sneak up on us, this time. Come on, talk. It'll make you feel better."

_I do want to talk. _The realization surprised me, but it was true._ I want to tell – gods dammit, I want to tell someone, get help for this, help me sort out my own thoughts_. All those conflicting feelings about our brief time together, on the way back. The roughness of his hands and grizzled chin, heat against heat even in the frosty nights, him seeing what I wanted_, 'are you quite sure you can bend that way, pet…'_

"Uh, Dust?" Antoinetta's snapping fingers slapped me out of my memories, left me blinking and flushed hot. "Where'd you go? You're red as…" A blink of her own, then a scandalized gasp. "You didn't!"

"_I didn'__t!_ I didn't _– what?_ I didn't do _what? Nevermind_." It all sputtered out at once, and I knew I looked as guilty as a pickpocket in a chapel. The smirk that slithered onto her features in turn, damning.

"You _did,_ too."

"Look, we'd been through a _lot_ together and he saved my life and I saved his and it was _cold_ and he's attractive and I just, I just didn't want to _think_ and we kissed before so – "

"You _jumped_ him!" She practically crowed as I grew redder still, half wishing I could sink into the ground. "I don't believe it! You keep surprising me, you know. You're not just some thumb-licking book flipper, after all."

"No, because first of all licking your fingers to turn a page is a _disgusting _habit." I couldn't help myself. Even through my embarrassment, I grinned back, sheepish. "… And secondly – I guess I'm not anymore, at least. A lot's changed."

"Why are you avoiding him, then?" Innocent as a lamb, the tilt of her head. I scoffed, shaking my head and looking away.

"… Because I_ want_ that change. I think. And I'm scared that maybe he doesn't? But I'm scared what if he _does_, too." I furrowed my brow, laughing at myself. "I don't _know_, Netta. After everything, and now mum is the _Listener_ and he and I – it's just so much. I want it, but I'm scared of it, too."

"Well, it's a good thing you have a lot of issues to work out." She tossed my blade back, leaving me scrambling to catch it and glaring as I pulled it out of the leather sheath. "Because this is the best way t'do it. C'mon, I'll show you all the best target points on the dummy!"

By the end of it I was well drenched in sweat, panting and finding the little dirk knife suddenly impossibly heavy. Antoinetta clucked her tongue and gave me a pat on the back as I stood upright, stretching out aching, stiff limbs one by one.

"You've got a long way to go, I'll be honest. But I think you've figured out how to stop locking your elbow all wrong. Feel looser?"

"_No.__"_

"That'll wear off! Maybe you can practice after you close up shop, hm? I won't always be around, 'course, but it wouldn't hurt."

"That's – that's a good idea. And I'd appreciate it." I wiped off the slick from my brow and smiled at her as she folded her arms and grinned, proud teacher. "Thanks, Antoinetta."

Her smile went crooked for a moment in thought, in – doubt? "… We _are_ friends, aren't we, Dusty?"

I'd often wondered what it would have been like, to have a little sister. Was I this much of a pain to Anya, growing up? In spite of myself, I smiled back. "Yeah. We are."

"Good!" A clap and all the uncertainty was gone. "Then you won't mind helping me with something."

"Oh, for Mara's _sake_ – " I threw up my hands, eyes rolling.

"It's nothing too much! And it'll be _fun._ You could use some fun after the week you've had, couldn't you? We all could. Things got so scary with the traitor around, nobody really trusting anyone anymore…"

"I am _not _getting drunk with you again."

"Not that. We should, though." A wicked grin. "Just not in the Sanctuary. But anyway, I need your _skills._ You know M'raaj-Dar, right?"

"The Khajiit here?" I frowned back, cricking my neck. How was my _neck_ stiff? Apparently practice was something I really did need, if only to limber up. "Not really. I mean, not well. Why?"

"Well, he's been a right crankypuss for no good reason, lately. Snarling at me all the time. I want to teach him a lesson in manners."

I crossed my arms. "And why should I help you? It sounds like something that would get us both in trouble, and I do _not_ want to be on the receiving end of that, thanks very much."

"As long as we don't go too far, it's fine! We're only human, Dusty, we've got t'have some fun sometimes, too." She shrugged a shoulder, gesturing widely as she pleaded her case. "Did you students in the University just sit around and read all day, or did you actually act like _people_, too?"

… Well, she had a point. Us students, we certainly had our fun. Whether that meant Bolor and I sneaking out of our respective duties to meet up in the stacks of the Archives, or giggling with Tar-Meena over some torrid romance novel and a bottle of wine and _gods_, the pranks we'd pull. And alchemy students the best at them, with such a plethora of materials. A flicker of both bittersweet nostalgia and mischievous pride.

"And I heard him call _you _some rather rude things, too. An intruder and a brat, and a skinny, bottle-sniffing – "

"_Alright,_ I get it." I gave her a deadpan glare. "Still, he hasn't actually bothered me. I don't see why I should – "

"I'll tell you what Lucien said about you to Vicente."

An immediate jolt through me, mouth going dry, heat climbing over my face. "… He – _what?_ You heard him say something about me? What, then? What did he _say_?"

"Ah, ah, _ahh_!" She tapped me on the nose, grin impish. "I'll tell you if you help me, okay?"

_This is stupid._ I pursed my lips hard_. Stupid and immature. I don't need to know. I'll run into him eventually and whatever the hell this is, we'll figure it out and, and I'm probably happier not knowing anyway –_

Oh, but I _wanted _to know. And Antoinetta could well see that, grinning smug as I gave a sigh of submission. "… What did you have in mind, then?"

"Well, I was thinking I'd do the classic, you know – hang a bucket of water behind the door, get him soaked when he comes in. But I want you to add a little something special, something – "

"Stinkhorn for the obvious, a simple syrup and flour to make it sticky." At her blink I gave a smirk. "Netta, I was pulling this sort of thing with the other apprentices for years. Half the reason I got to graduate to Journeyman was learning to avoid them – or better yet, how to get _revenge._ It's a basic one, but it_ is_ a classic."

Her eyes glittered, a positively evil little giggle leaving her. "So you'll help me?"

_You are not a nineteen year old apprentice throwing stinkbombs anymore, gods-dammit. You are not gossiping with your sister over a crush –_

I blinked under Antoinetta's expectant stare. Wasn't I?

Not my sister, and yet it felt the same. Roles reversed, me egging on Anya to pursue that shy young man she eventually married. And _gods,_ I wanted to know. Did he – was he laughing about me? What I'd felt for him in the spring, in that icy tomb, in his arms on the way home - was that real at _all_? If I approached him would I only be making a fool of myself?

A reluctant grumble. "If you'll tell me. Dammit, Antoinetta, this is_ so_ stupid. Aren't we a little old for this nonsense?"

And she only laughed, grinning ear to ear. "Never too old to have a little _fun."_


	37. Chapter Thirty-Seven

Much to her irritation, I made Antoinetta wait.

After all, I had a shop to run, and after my extended absence there was work to catch up on. I had to replace some of the spoiled reagents and potions, to shore up my stock and account in my ledgers for the purchases, had to make it clear I was open for business again. The time I wasn't working, I spent poring over the books on business I'd purchased at Mach-Na's.

Only on Sundas, when I could close up and when my potions delivery was due, was I ready to help her with her scheme.

I made my way into the little house and through the basement with a basket on my shoulder, both with the potions due and with what we'd need for her prank. I came to a stop in front of the Black Door, the reddish glow reflecting against me.

A stark reminder of what this place really was. And the first time I'd faced it alone.

Maman had told me the passphrase, just in case I ever needed in. Still, I didn't want to come close. Not the way it thrummed, in and out in slow breath, the throb of a heart that wasn't there. It felt like something would lunge out, if I moved the wrong way.

I pressed my eyes shut. Feeling the kiss of the Listener's blade against my palm, the traitor's hands around my throat, the cold of the Night Mother's touch on my cheek…

A shudder ran through me, and I pressed my hand to the carven one on the door.

A hiss, not from the door it seemed but from inside me, in my head like her voice had been. _What is the colour of night?_

I sucked in a breath, closed my eyes. "Sanguine, my Brother."

I took three quick steps in the moment it opened, only stopping, slumping when it came to a groaning close again behind me. It felt like almost instinctive, a childish fear. The kind that made me dive for my bed as a girl after blowing out the candle, hiding from the dark under the safety of my blanket.

"_There_ you are!"

Relief. I shook off the cold clinging to me as Antoinetta sashayed over, grinning and poking through the basket at my hip. "You've got what we need, perfect."

"Is M'raaj-Dar even around, today?"

"He's here! I've got it all planned out." She gestured for me to follow, giggling to herself. "We'll get the bucket all set up. I'll ask him to meet us in the laboratory in a minute t'talk about something private, and then I'll run back, we'll put it up and when he opens the door –" Her sniggering was positively malicious, and more than a little infectious. I shook my head, laughing in exasperation.

"You're evil, you know_. I've_ got nothing against him. I'm only doing this because I want to know what Lucien said. And the plan's a bit simple, isn't it?"

"The simpler it is, the less can go wrong." She spoke primly, leading me into the laboratory to put away the potions I'd made. A flicker of sickly guilt to notice I was restocking them – that many from the last I'd made were already missing. Had already, presumably, been used.

"Hey, pay attention!" In a sing-song voice she called, hauling over a washbucket already filled up. "D'you just stir it in?"

At least there was a distraction. I shot her a smile, uncorking the bottle I still held with my thumb. "Doing it now. You're right, really – the simpler things are…"

"Exactly!" She made a face at the foul stench that rose rancid now as I poured in the foul, clumpy substance, grabbing a wooden spoon to give it a good few stirs. "Oh, that _is _awful."

"Stinkhorn, dried and crushed. It releases the smell again once it hits the water." I wrinkled my nose too, trying not to breathe in too much. "Harmless like this, but…"

"It's perfectly awful! Awful smelling and _perfect _for this." She snickered, voice nasally as she pinched her nose and muttered under her breath. "And he says my garlic bread smells bad, that stodgy old _bat_…"

"What?"

"Mm?" A bat of her lashes. "Oh, nothing! Just thinking out loud. Alright, that all set? I've already got the footstool. I'll go tell him to come in here in a minute, and that should give us time to put it up there."

"Won't he be suspicious?"

"You leave that to me."

She was gone and back within short minutes, panting from running, snatching the foul bucket from my hands. "Alright, we've got t'hurry – give me that, let's get it – "

"Be careful how you – "

"_Shhh!__"_

Footsteps. She clambered down just in time, the door just cracked open enough to have the bucket balanced atop it. In theory, the bucket would have fallen on our unfortunate victim as he pushed the door in to enter.

In _theory._

In practice, it all seemed to happen rather at once. The door creaked open, Antoinetta muffling giggles behind her hands. A raised brow. A mighty splash, and suddenly _old bat_ made a lot more sense.

That was_ not_ a soaked, cursing Khajiit in front of us. That was a perfectly dry, politely smiling vampire, observing as we sputtered and choked on the mess of foul-smelling gunk spilled over us both.

"Good afternoon, ladies."

"Muh." I dragged a hand over the slick liquid dripping down my head, shuddering. Oh, yes, there it went, right down the back of my neck. _Oh_, it stunk _so_ much worse like this. A sound between a shiver and a whimper. _"Ugh."_

Antoinetta, for her part, gawked. "That's not _fair!_ How did you know – "

"What is the saying?" His eyes crinkled, gaunt cheeks lined with his smirk. "I did not crawl from my coffin a decade ago. Just a little nudge of telekinesis as I came in."

"_Eeppbhlth.__"_ Everywhere. In my hair, clinging to and sinking into my robes, dripping down my face. _Everywhere_. I only stood in shock as he gently pressed the handle of a mop into my open palm.

"I expect this mess to be cleaned up by the evening. Antoinetta." A perfect incline of his head as he turned. "Dust."

I moved in a daze, half out of shock and half to avoid that horrific sensation of the thick, slimy mixture creeping down my skin. Grabbing a rag as Antoinetta left to fill a less offensive bucket of water, as we worked on scrubbing the floor and ourselves.

Only once I'd managed to have my face and hair at least mostly cleaned off, on my knees viciously scrubbing the mess, did I snap out of it. Or, rather, snap at _her._ Whacking her with a rag over the head, punctuating every word with a wet _thwack_.

"You – said – it – was – the – _CAT –_ "

"_Dusty!"_ A whine as she shielded her head, shrinking under the blows. "I knew you wouldn't help me if I told you it was Vicente! And besides, whatsit matter _now?_ It backfired!"

"Oh, _did it!_?" I threw up my arms, sodden sleeves squelching. "I hadn't bloody _NOTICED_!"

"Oh, come on, don't blame _me _– "

"And who should I blame, hm?" I channeled my energy back into scrubbing. "The _door?__"_

"Well, _Vicente's_ the one who told me my cooking smelled bad. I know he's allergic to garlic, but _he_ doesn't have to eat it. He won't let me cook with it at _all._ It's not fair!"

I blinked. And then, glowering, I slowly twisted the soaking rag into a whip.

"Oh! Oh, don't be like that!" She shrieked, giggling and scrambling away on the floor, one arm still up to defend herself. "You agreed to it, too!"

"I didn't _know_ it was him! And only to…" The terms of our bargain came back to me. I chewed my lip for a moment, lowering the rag and turning back to my work as she did hers. "… I wanted to ask something."

"Mm?"

"Why didn't – I mean, you know about me and, and Lucien, and I'm glad you're not angry, but you seem to… why didn't you and him, ever…?"

Her features softened. She kept scrubbing, too, but her smile was distant. "… It's kind've – complicated. I don't see him like that, so much. He's handsome and all, but he's my saviour. I owe him _everything."_

I frowned, leaning my weight in to get through a stubborn patch of the lumpy grime. "I don't understand."

"I mean – well, people in love ought t'be equals, right? Or at least close. We're not. He's my _superior,_ Dusty, and probably always will be. He's the one who gave me my Family. My home. It would be…" Her little nose wrinkled, a giggle burbling up. "I sound like Ocheeva, but it would be _inappropriate._ I fancy him, but I'd never _do_ anything about it. And I think he probably feels the same."

I nodded, beginning to grasp what she meant. I'd felt that imbalance in the early days with Bolor, too, though having very different focuses for our studies helped. "I just…"

"Wanted to make sure you weren't stepping on my toes?" She gave a wicked grin. "Little late for that, isn't it?"

"I just wanted to make sure." I grumbled for a moment, surveying our work so far on the stone floor before glancing back at her. "… So. What did he say?"

"Hm? What?"

"Lucien. What did he say about me?"

"Oh! That." My chest tightened up as she paused, even as I scolded myself for the anxiety. I was a grown woman, dammit, I could take it if he'd mocked me, or if he was disinterested, or…

"Nothing."

"… _What?"_

"I said I'd tell you what he said about you." Sheepish now her grin, the rise of her shoulders as she edged back. "And it's _true!_ He didn't say anything about you. So I kept up my end! You can't be mad!"

I didn't get much cleaning done from there. I was rather too busy chasing Antoinetta around with a wet rag, promising I'd be a murderer myself soon enough.

"Vicente, I can't apologize enough."

With my hands raw and red, both the laboratory and I were _finally _clean. There was still a hint of something unpleasant clinging to my robes, to the stonework floor, but I'd made a point of crumbling up some lavender to help deal with the odour.

"I'm assuming Antoinetta put you up to it?"

"She told me it would be M'raaj-Dar, that he'd been rude to her." I pursed my lips and hung back by the door as Vicente, mild-mannered as ever, made a pot of tea. "If I'd known it was you…"

"I'm curious as to why that would make a difference." He turned to regard me, brows raised. "Has M'raaj-Dar offended you in some manner? He is admittedly brusque to outsiders, but it would be out of character for him to act on it."

"I – no, he didn't do anything to me. Antoinetta said he'd called me a few names, but…" I shrank under even the polite look of inquiry he gave me, feeling my face go hot. _What am I going to tell him? It was so stupid, dammit, but I just had to know, I couldn't help myself –_

"Lucien will return in a few days' time. The business between you is, of course, your own, but perhaps you could speak to him directly then."

I stiffened. "… Can vampires read minds? Could you kindly have _warned _me?"

A soft chuckle. "We cannot, no. But we do have excellent hearing, and Antoinetta is as indiscreet in the Sanctuary as she is a shadow _out_ of it."

Mmn. Maybe that was part of why I liked her, joined in her harebrained schemes. It made her other image, the other half of her, easier to deny. Made it easier to assuage my guilt in enjoying her company, the same as I did with Lucien and maman. Trying not to see. I shook my thoughts away. "… Will she be in trouble? It was my fault, too."

"I believe, given how the escapade rather backfired, she has learned her lesson." An earthy, almost spicy scent arose as he pulled a teapot from the hearth, pouring two small cups. Stonepetal, I guessed. I gave a smile of gratitude as he offered me a cup, closing both hands around it and inhaling slowly. "As, I imagine, have you."

_Yes,_ I had. I cleared my throat. "You really aren't bothered?" I was apprehensive to ask, but curiosity won out. "It was meant for _you_, after all. And over _garlic_." I rolled my eyes to myself before taking a sip, the heat rushing pleasantly through me.

"I've dealt with our younger and newer members for some time. Professionalism in our _work_ is expected. The follies of both youth and conflicts of Family are inevitable, outside of that. This is their home, after all." A mouth corner gently crooked. "Your mother certainly gave me trouble, when she first came."

"_Mum_ did?"

"Naturally. She was an adolescent when she came to us, and very angry. Many who come to us so young are. She would pick fights with her Brothers and Sisters, argue with her superiors. She was brash, until she learned temperance."

I screwed up my face. Maman – my perfect, poised, elegant mother, a cursing teenager. Impossible to picture. My breath left me in a whoosh as I let my shoulders slump. "I can't even imagine it."

"It can be very difficult to see someone through new eyes, in a way we have never known them. Or in ways we do not _wish_ to know them." He met my gaze, but he didn't need to say anything more. I already knew that. I'd faced that, was _still_ facing that, trying to piece together the images. One sharp, dark and strange, her in those robes, kneeling in that tomb. The Listener. The other…

Faint memories. Maman, before papa died, painstakingly picking lice out of our hair so we wouldn't have to shave off our treasured locks. Scolding me with a secret smile when I pranked poor Madame Tucket. Kissing my brow to say goodnight, wishing me sweet dreams.

"We are all of us more than we seem, play many roles. You cannot accept only shards of a person."

"Mum said something like that." I thought back on it, that drunken haze of a night when I'd kissed Lucien. When she reassured me that she could both be a daughter of Sithis, and my mother. That I, too, was more than what one saw at a glance.

"Yes. Hence…" Vicente cast a glance towards the closed door, a faint, bemused smile on his thin lips. "Antoinetta is my Sister, in_ all_ senses of the word. Both loyal and, at times, infuriating. She is a Daughter of Sithis in her own right. She is a bright young woman overly fond of appearances, and she is, if I may dare to assume…" His gaze turned back to me. "Your friend."

My friend. Yes. My friend the silly, bubbly, pranking _murderer._ Quite the record I was building, wasn't I? Murderers and necromancers and vampires, the closest people in my life.

It hit me like a punch to the gut, leaving me breathless for a long moment. I swigged the tea for the sake of something to _do_, trying not to hold the delicate little mug too tight.

I'd known it, of course. Danced and dodged around it since that night we said goodbye to maman, the night I'd shown him what I wanted. I'd told mum that I wanted _her,_ not the Listener.

And I'd told Lucien, without saying a word, that I wanted him. And that would mean _every _facet of him. It meant that stupid, charming smirk, it meant those dark eyes. The sturdiness of his frame against mine, swirling at the festival, his hand clutching mine in the tomb.

It meant the man who, if not for maman's dagger, would have killed me without hesitation the night we met.

I didn't know yet if I could ever accept that part of him, of any of them. It seemed too huge to wrap my head around, even now. But even besides that, what did that make _me?_ Even if I didn't hold the dagger or loose the arrow, even if I wasn't guilty of their crimes, I worked with them. Laughed and cried with them. Cared for them.

What had maman said? "_None of us are as simple as we seem. You, too, mon chou."_

"What was it," he prompted gently, "That you had hoped to hear he had said?"

"I… I don't know." That much was true. Part of me wanted rejection. It would make this so much _easier,_ save me the guilt, the fear. But part of me…

"Introspection is a useful and necessary tool, but it does have its limits. There is little else you can do to face what is vexing you until he returns. It may do you well to focus on more concrete tasks, in the meantime."

"You're – you're right. I'm sure there's something I need to do at the…" I trailed off, furrowing my brow at what he presented. A little vial, filled with some powdered red substance. I took it and at his nod cracked the top to inhale, making a face and turning my head to sneeze. "Fire petal! Oh, that's _strong_ – "

"It does have a rather unique spice to it, does it not? I developed a taste for it during my stay in Vvardenfell, before my preferred diet rather changed." The smile was more in his eyes than his lips as he spoke. "An added pinch makes an invigorating tea even these days."

"_Invigorating._ That's one way to describe it." I wrinkled my nose to try and put out the heat, blinking hard. "But why are you…?"

"Since Antoinetta is so – _riled _that I dislike her preferred spice, I thought she should have a taste of mine. I'm sure she could use a hand in the kitchen, and it may keep your mind off things, hm?"

I gawked. Glancing from him to the vial and back, shaking my head, grinning. "You are positively _devious."_

"I have my moments." An incline of his head to the door, politely dismissing me. "There is work I must tend to, in the meantime. But should you require anything…"

"I'll come talk to you." He'd murdered, devoured, destroyed and yet he was so gentle, showing caring in his own quiet, unassuming way. But I trusted him, all of them. I trusted them in spite of what they were. "… Thank you, Vicente."

"Of course."

I left, rolling my shoulders and making my way to the kitchen. Vicente was right. Regardless of this – this mess, this tangle of fears and thoughts, I couldn't begin to sort things out until he came back.

For now, I had enough to keep me busy without trying to pick apart guilt or identity or – or _whatever_ I felt for him. For now I had a shop to run, and a simple little goal for the evening. I hadn't forgotten, after all, how Antoinetta had _tricked _me.

And if I was close enough to them to struggle with this guilt, to be embroiled in their plots – maybe I _was_ family. In a way. Maybe I'd earned the right to treat her like she treated me. To put that guilt from my mind, just for a little while.

I slipped the vial into my pocket._ What else are sisters for?_


	38. Chapter Thirty-Eight

"So you're telling me you're going to charge twenty gold _apiece _for a few plants I could have mushed together myself? What kind of scam are you running, here?"

"Excuse me? I – ma'am, do you _mind_ – miss, I really do need to look at your selection of – "

"Shut up! I was here first, and this little_ hussy_ has to answer me! How _dare _you sell my husband this, this vile drug_, _do you have _any_ idea what he's asked me to _do _\- "

My poor, lovely little shop was in chaos. I normally had only a few customers throughout the day, just enough to keep things interesting. Much of my income was not from patrons, but from local craftsmen I made deals with. Refining fire salts for the blacksmith, making special wax for the carpenter's guild, healing potions for the chapel…

So whatever the reason for this sudden influx, it was overwhelming. I could only shrink and cringe as all three of the pecked and nagged and argued._ Zenithar's sake, this is ridiculous. Shut up! I can't think through this noise! Dammit –_ The shrieking Imperial red in the face as she ranted, the Bosmer with her arms crossed and brow lowered in a scowl, the Dunmer trying again and again to interject…

_Stupid and petty and…_

A strange feeling crept in, an odd sort of peace. It _was_ petty. With everything else I'd stumbled into these past months, with all my other worries, _this _was what upset me? I'd survived meeting an assassin, being kidnapped, the traitor. I'd survived a maniac trying to _murder_ me and stuff another's soul in my body, damn it all. I could handle _them._

A deep breath.

"Ma'am, if you feel you can treat your dog's witbane on your own then, by all means, feel free. I would simply hate for them to suffer any longer than necessary and I charge as appropriate for my work." The Imperial woman inhaled, but froze when I turned my gaze on her. Polite, but firm.

"_And_ while I understand your distress, ma'am, your husband _chose_ to purchase _J'__adore_, and I simply did my business as a merchant in selling it to him. How he uses it is up to him and while I hope it does you both well, I can't help any marital issues you may have as a result of his purchase." She turned scarlet – whether with rage or embarrassment I never found out, turning to the last customer.

"And sir, I'm happy to help you just as soon as I've finished with these two ladies. Have I addressed your concerns _adequately, _everyone?"

Grumbles all around. The Bosmer bought the potions, throwing them in her satchel and slapping down coin before marching away. The Imperial harrumphed, high and indignant, then followed in her wake. I caught something about 'Breton trollops' and had to hold back a snort.

Finally, the impatient man got his own purchases – a few bottles of simple hunting poison, and a vial of J'adore for _him_, too, as an afterthought. Inspired, perhaps, by the woman's rant. Only when he turned did I let myself grin. What was the saying? No such thing as bad publicity?

_Finally_. The shop mercifully empty, blissfully silent, I gave a groan of relief and let my head fall on the counter in my arms. I could finally start cleaning up, maybe drop by the Sanctuary for a little practice with Antoinetta and my new blade, like I'd been doing the past few nights. Or maybe just sit by the fire with a good book and a cup of mead, dead to the world for a while. _Thank Zenithar._ _Maybe I should take up worship, after all. See if I can't get Him on my side, put up a little symbol like all the other merchants do –_

The bell hanging above my door chimed. Gods _dammit._I rolled my eyes, remembering a certain vow I'd made about slaughterfish and stained glass windows. "Good day, sir, how can I…"

_Oh._

"Help… you."

I trailed off. He smiled that gods damned_, _stupid,_ knee-weakening_ smile and I could only cling to the counter and try not to show what I was thinking, even as I felt my face go hot. "… Lucien."

"I see business is thriving."

"I – yes. It's been busy today, but I'm about to close up. Did you want anything before I – "

An arched brow. "Why would I _buy,_ when I could simply add it to the potions you deliver for us? Or even make it myself."

"_Right!_ Right." _Dammit, you idiot._ I couldn't think straight, flustered and averting my gaze as I pushed back from the counter to start tidying up. He stepped up to the opposite shelf, surveying my stock with a thoughtful hum.

"Are you going to the Sanctuary to practice with that little rib-sticker?"

Antoinetta must have told him. I brushed a free hand over my side where I'd strapped the dirk knife to my belt. It had taken the place of maman's dagger, now kept safely upstairs in my bedside table.

A glance over my shoulder – he had something in his hand now, still facing the shelf. "… I was thinking about it."

He rumbled a laugh. "Planning to find more trouble, pet?"

Another little shiver. I surveyed the floor for a moment, despairing. Muck and slush, grey grit and dirt from the snow dragged in coated my beautiful floor. _Later – I'll mop later._ _Least of my concerns right now_. "I'm planning on being able to handle it when it finds _me_."

"Mmn. I've changed my mind – I_ will _purchase something."

And I was about to growl at him _what_, on edge and not_liking_ being on edge, but then I saw the slender, red-filled vial in his hand. A smirk upturning the corners of his mouth, carving lines. I didn't need to read the label to know exactly what it said –_ J'__adore_. I pursed my lips, still keeping my eyes from his as I spoke.

"… Youdon'thavetopayforthat."

He arched a brow. I glared for a fraction of a second before looking away and dammit, I could _feel_ the heat glowing off my cheeks, down to my flushed shoulders and chest. Red like the contents of the vial, muttering. "I_saidy_oudon'thavetopayforthat." A tight swallow, throat dry.

A beat. He gave a little shrug of surrender, brows high, lips even but I could see just the slightest strain of a held-back smirk. Was he – was he still interested, or was he doing this just to mock me? _Does he see me that way? Just someone to occupy his nights?_

I wanted him, and I wanted to push him away, and I wanted him to want me even knowing that would make things so much more gods damned _complicated_.

"Very well. Who am I to turn down such generosity?" He pocketed the vial. I watched him for a moment, always careful to flicker away my gaze if he turned to meet it. The last thing I needed was him seeing into me, using the gift he'd been given to pin down what I wanted, when_ I_ didn't even know.

_It would be so much easier to just throw him out. Clean up, pull out a good book, curl up by the fire and just ignore it all…_

I bit back a sigh and layered my usual simple shoes in the shop with proper boots, pulling down my cloak and throwing it on. "Shall we?"

"By all means."

Winter had well and truly fallen on Cheydinhal, and with it the blustery weather of the mountains coming down. A good layer of snow covered the streets, some of it shoveled away in the main paths to heap in the corners and yards, some left in blankets and dunes. The sun was nearly gone beyond the horizon now and the wind was a constant whisper of chill around every corner, warning of an icy night to come. I held my cloak a little tighter, shaking off a shiver.

The silence was – maybe it would have been nice, if I'd left it. But I couldn't bear it, as though afraid of what might be said in the vacuum if I didn't fill it. "… You were gone a while."

"Though my duties are often administrative, I still travel as needed and do as I am tasked."

As tasked. I winced at the thought of what that meant, that he'd come home with more than ink on his hands. _This is him,_ I reminded myself. _What he does, who he is. How can I feel that way about…? How can I trust…__?_

But then came visions of the past weeks. Of him saving my life, and me his_. How can I not?_

_It's all too much, too fast. _Like I'd tumbled head over heels and couldn't grasp my way to sense again. I lost myself in the muddle of thoughts, only perking back to reality when we entered the warmth of the Sanctuary.

"Antoinetta is off on contract at the moment, I'm afraid."

"What?" I jerked my head towards him, growling. "Why didn't you_ say_ so? I came over here to train with her. If she's not here I might as well have stayed home, not trudged through the damn snow." Home with my thoughts and the safety of solitude, maybe able to push away my concerns for just one more night.

"I was rather thinking_ I_ could train you, pet." A raised brow, a drawl. "Unless I am not _worthy_ of such an honour."

"Shut up," I grumbled to his snicker, giving a sigh of relent. "Fine."

To the training room, then, oddly empty. Perhaps the others had noted the time I usually came by and decided to avoid me, though they'd been more welcoming since our return. Since the death of the traitor. Word had spread that it was me, who…

I swallowed hard, pausing in the middle of the room as Lucien took off his cloak and threw it over a chair. My hand strayed immediately to the knife at my belt before I did the same, shaking droplets of melted snow away.

"I'm not – I'm not very good yet."

"Antoinetta said as much." A chuckle at my indignant look. "You swing when you should stab. Not enough force behind the blows, and you hesitate. You _think _too much, pet."

"I've never considered that a bad thing."

"In the heat of battle there is no time for second thoughts, indecision. You must strike decisively. This is not a game, Dust." Hearing my name like that, suddenly so grave in that rumble, made me shiver. "You've known as much since that night. Had our Mother's voice not given you guidance…"

"I know." Hard first my snap back, then softer. "… I _know_."

"But you are taking the right first steps. And Antoinetta says you move well, at least. Gracefully enough."

"It's a bit like dancing." I mused to myself while he rolled up his sleeves, fixed his hair tie tighter. For my part I stretched as Netta had taught me, trying to let the looseness she spoke of move through my arms, down to my curling and uncurling fingers.

"_Dancing."_

"Fluid movements, patterns, anticipating the movement of your partner. I took lessons, growing up." I knew we were both thinking of the night before we'd fled, the harvest festival. I could hear the smug smile in his voice.

"You seemed to lose your footing rather easily, the last_ I _saw you dance."

I rolled my eyes and stood upright again after stretching out my back, glaring. "Are we doing this, or are you all talk as always, _Speaker?__"_

"Very well." Without his cloak, sleeves pulled high it was easier to see the corded muscles there, lean, but strong. The dark dusting of hair down his arms, and the many, _many _scars dotting them.

I hesitated. "… We're not going to blunt them, first?" Antoinetta and I had practiced with blunt wooden ends over our blades. It still hurt to be jabbed in the ribs by one, but it wouldn't cut. And he had no weapon at all.

A raised brow. "No, I see little point in it."

So many scars. So many ugly and dark, from that night. "… I might hurt you."

Lucien deadpanned. "You will not. Trust me."

I snorted, half-jesting. "Well, if I don't get to _hurt _you, what's the point of this?" I felt a glimmer of satisfaction at the crooked smile Lucien gave. He only inclined his head, waiting.

I took a breath, and with the blade ready, I lunged. And missed - he moved easily, actually pressing his body towards the blade, but trapping it between his arm and waist. We separated, and I tried again.

Where Antoinetta dodged he often parried, not with a blade but with his body – turning, twisting my arm or trapping the blow so I couldn't strike again. Forcing me to rethink my movements, to not just aim for but _around_ a target to try and find avenues to hit. To both my relief and endless frustration, I didn't so much as scratch him.

When I was panting, dragging a hand over my slick brow, we paused. He fetched water in little clay cups, sipping his own as I took mine with gratitude, glugging it down. _Hope this gets easier over time, or I'll never –_

I had nearly downed it before I realized, spitting, sputtering, wheeling around to turn a vicious glare on him. "You _bastard."_

"Mmn?" He arched his brows, smile hidden behind his cup.

"What, did you think I wouldn't _notice!?_ It's my own bloody recipe – "

"Oh, I had assumed you would realize. The flavor is hard to miss." And it was. Strawberry sweet and somehow tasting of _pink,_ heady and tingling. I stepped back to grab support from a chair, feeling my face go hot. My whole body, flushed. Was it from the exertion, or already from…?

"You give in to distraction too easily. Your entire focus should be on survival."

"Well, this _isn't going to help!"_

"Precisely," He enunciated, smirk crooked at my glower. "You need to learn how to concentrate, to push away all other thought."

"Oh, is _that _how you're framing this? Like you're just doing me a _favour_?"

He moved to me silently, and I froze up. I couldn't help it – my heart leapt into my throat, limbs going weak. He moved behind me and took my bladearm, covering it with his own, hand over mine. Guiding my motion lower, quicker, more a jab than a slice. "Get it out of your head that you are some ridiculous Breton knight of the great houses. You do not swing, you _stab_ and get away. Take advantage of your size and catch them unawares from below." I let my back relax against him for a moment, swallowing hard. A rumble of laughter by my ear.

"Did you get all that, pet?"

"Low stabs. Got it." Gods, his breath by my ear felt too good, _much_ too good. A tremble down my back, shivering hot and potent from head to curling toes. The scent of him this close brought memories of those nights on the road rushing back. Lips on lips, on skin, rustling clothing, long sighs…

"You know anatomy well enough from your earlier practice, do you not? If you can hit something essential, do so. If not, you go for the thigh for the major arteries there, and to try and disable pursuers."

_Of course I know anatomy_ came the thought. _I'm a healer, after all,_ but then the thought of rather _different_ anatomy studies invaded again. I shook my head, taking a deep breath. "Makes – makes sense."

"If your target is heavily armoured, don't bother. Run. You don't have the skill to hit the seams, and your little ribsticker will be useless against them. You won't stand a chance."

Even through the haze enveloping me, some part was indignant. "I do have _other _tricks up my sleeves, you know."

"Oh?"

I took a breath through my teeth and did exactly as Antoinetta had taught me. I slammed my elbow into his gut with a _whoomph, _a moment of satisfaction in hearing him grunt more in surprise than pain. His grip on my arm remained and I _wrenched_ it free, the motion in that giving it momentum that I hadn't anticipated to send it swinging, slicing –

"_Oh!_ Oh, _damn,_Lucien – " My knife clattered to the floor. Lucien just _looked,_ arching a single brow high as down the side of his face, a shallow cut began to drip. "Shit, I…" Cupping his cheeks, letting my magicka go without thought to seal the wound. Thank gods it hadn't been worse, thank gods I hadn't caught his _eye,_ stupid,_ stupid_ mistake trying to impress him… "I'm so, so _sorry."_

It began low in his chest, rising up as he closed his eyes and grinned. Laughing, mirth infectious and enough to make me relax. The wound sealed easily, and I brushed my hand over his cheek relieved to see I'd left no mark.

"I'm touched by your concern, pet." His hand caught mine, lowering it but not letting go. I shivered as I met his gaze, well knowing what he'd see. His eyes lidded. "I've suffered worse." I knew that too well. Even now I was brought back for a moment to the spring, washing his wounds, reaching for him…

I don't know when I started the kiss. But my lips were up to his, our hands separating to find other places to touch – his in my hair, cupping and holding me closer, the other winding around my back as mine found their way to his shoulders, linking at the back of his neck. I still tasted sweetness, my breath shivering against his lips as they parted and met again, harder now, possessive.

My jaw trembled. I was in a daze when we parted, shaky like I'd overcome a fever. I _felt_ feverish, warm and foggy and not quite myself, weak at the knees. I squeezed my eyes shut, wanting more, unable to bring myself to part from him entirely. My hands slid from his back over to his chest, resting there as I lowered my brow between them.

"… Lucien. What is this?"

A sigh rippled through me when his hand moved too, playing idly with the short curls at the nape of my neck. "This?"

"This. _Us._ We – we have this, and I _like_ this, I, I don't want this to stop, I just, I don't…" Impossible to find the words. A deep breath. I set my jaw and took his cheek again, redirecting his gaze towards mine to meet it intently. Perhaps he'd already seen – but I had to be sure.

Was that recognition in his eyes? Amusement? Disdain? I bit my lip, able only to wait for his response. His head tilted.

"Does _'this_…'" Now _that_ was disdain, how he spoke of it. "Really need a _title?_ We enjoy each other's company, do we not?"

It stung, even when it wasn't outright rejection. I scolded myself. What the hell had I expected, a vow of – of something more? From _him?_ _Don't be stupid._ "I… yes. Like this, we do." I gestured to us, how close we were. Against my will, I heard meekness creep into my voice. "… But is that all?"

Gods, those eyes were intense. I still felt floaty, every touch deeper, every breath slower. Some distant part of my mind congratulated myself on my own potion as I sunk into his gaze. "Are you saying _'this'_ isn't enough for you?"

I couldn't say it out loud. I couldn't bear it. Like I was suddenly too sensitive I flinched back, too sweet, too heady, too bright and tempting. A tight swallow and I managed to laugh, and it was even partly genuine. "Well, I _was _a noble, you know, daughter of a Marquis and all. Very proper." I crossed my arms and regarded him as best I could with feigned conceit. It felt like my legs would give out from under me any moment.

That smirk I'd come to know so well, so shortly. "I would never question your _propriety,_ pet. I well know it from our time travelling together."

If I was pink before I had to be beet red now. Still, I turned my head and played dismissive. "Well, maybe _now_ I want things done properly. Maybe I want more than – than just the _physical_." Even if it was hard to think of anything else, right now. "To – to take the time to do things right." Haughtiness, a tilt of my chin. "To be_ courted_, hm?"

"_Courted."_ Behind his lips I could see him drag his tongue over his teeth, considering. A slow shake of his head, a grin. "I see. Very well. Shall we consider this lesson complete, for now?"

"I…" A shiver down my back at what he seemed to be implying. Where I imagined this would go from here. "… I suppose. We – could go home. _My _home, I mean."

The sudden look of innocence on his face of_ anyone's _was almost infuriating. He spoke so airily, so politely. "I'm afraid I must decline the invitation, with regret. I have other business to attend to, tonight. We'll have to resume our _lessons_another time."

It felt like there was an audible thud from my hopes hitting the ground, frustrating roiling in me. My hands fell by my sides, jaw hanging. _"But…"_

My cheeks burned as he glanced back at me, retrieving his cloak, tossing me my own. The barest hint of a smirk.

"_Goodnight,_ pet."

It felt like he took my voice, my breath with him. Only well after he'd departed could I even manage to speak. "…Goodnight."

Damn him._ Damn _him and damn me and…

I put a finger to my lips, still tingling. Moved to my fallen blade, picked it up and, with a despairing sound somewhere between laughter and a groan, I began practice again.

Antoinetta was right. I had some issues to work through.


	39. Chapter Thirty-Nine

By morning J'adore had, mercifully, worked its way out of my system. The dreams it stirred up lingered longer, making it hard to concentrate on my everyday tasks – starting a new vat of hunting poison, placing orders for more vials and stoppers, tracking who owed me what in town for my services, when payment was due. Twice I'd chewed the nib of my quill and gotten a mouthful of ink for my trouble.

But even when the daydreams faded, I couldn't stop thinking about it. About _him,_ what it all meant. I growled at myself, pushing up from the counter. Stupid. _Stupid_ that I couldn't shake away his image, that I was so distracted by something so strange and yet so mundane, especially with all that had surrounded me.

Like _this._

The soul gem, as always, seemed innocuous enough. Still, in the nights since I'd been given it I'd only dared examine it briefly. I feared – I didn't know. What kind of gift would the _Night Mother_ give me? Whose soul lingered inside it, warm and humming?

But even as I rolled it in my palm, it stayed a mystery. Something to ask Vicente about, perhaps. Or…

Maybe. He must have known I had it, but he'd never asked after it. _Maybe I should – just, since he was there…_

I had to laugh at myself. Pulling away from my cauldron as the fire popped, the greenish liquid inside going from gritty to glossy and smooth. Smoke vented above but the smell remained, my little laboratory feverishly warm even as winter reigned. Or was that more because of me?

_I'm looking for excuses to see him again. And then when I see him, I want to run away._ A moth to a flame.

In any case, my day was done. It had been quiet besides my usual routine, only one or two customers venturing in through the snow and cold. With a grunt I heaved the cauldron off the firepit, more sliding than lifting it into the groove beside it to cool. In the morning it would be ready to bottle.

For now…

_Well. I could at least go see if he's even there_. My fingers brushed the soul gem in my pocket, a habit formed that day. _And if he isn't, if I change my mind, I can just talk to Vicente. No harm done. Nothing to be embarrassed about._

_Right._

I swept on my coat, dug my feet into my boots and made for the door. A gust of wind pushed me back, and I found myself blinking to find that the flame had, once again, come to me.

"Oh!" I stepped back to give him room in the threshold, pursing my lips and gazing past him, through him. "… Good evening."

"Good evening." Lucien. I expected a sneer or a smirk after yesterday, but his gaze was – strange. Focused but more somber, not in the frightening way I'd seen those nights on the run from the traitor but as though deep in thought. He spoke almost curtly, raising his chin. "Have you eaten?"

"I – no, not yet. I was thinking of dropping by the Sanctuary first – "

An affirmative grunt, and a nod. He turned, gaze holding mine over his shoulder before he stepped back outside. "Come with me."

"… Alright." I paused only long enough to lock the door behind me before following in his footsteps. The winds whispering seemed to make his silence all the harsher, anxiety creeping into my chest.

Had something happened? Had I done something wrong? A thought as I felt the soul gem in my pocket bump against me. He knew I had it, and so far I'd largely ignored it. Unable to figure out what it meant, occasionally palming it or keeping it nearby as I worked these past days, but otherwise doing little. Was he angry I hadn't found a use for it? Didn't appreciate it?

I was so lost in my thoughts that I barely noticed where we were going until we were there. Not to the Sanctuary like I'd expected. Instead we'd wound our way up the cobblestone paths to the higher districts of Cheydinhal, encircled by stone walls and wrought iron gates frosted white and topped with little puffs of snow. Here the houses were statelier, better kept than my little home by the chapel. The district for the wealthy and those of class, closest to the castle.

And before us, a tavern.

I stalled in surprise, shrugging my cloak closer against the cold. Snowfall had turned into a storm, whipping tiny flurries in dizzying circles, wind biting at my cheeks. It looked welcoming – one of those fine upper city buildings, pretty windows emanating a warm, cozy glow. The muffled sound of clinking glasses and laughter within.

"_The Maiden's Whimsy?"_ I glanced at the sign swinging in the wind, a silhouette of a pretty girl dancing. My laugh was almost lost to the storm. "Lu –_ Miles, _I can't afford this. Not if I want to make maman's coin last at all."

"My treat tonight, pet." He held the door open for me. I stared a long moment, only getting a crooked brow in return, before the cold finally drove me inside.

It was definitely the nicest tavern in town. The other inns were lovely for folks like me, and there was the Newlands Lodge where more – _boisterous_ drinkers would go, but this place was clearly meant for the at least moderately wealthy. Not_ The_ _Tiber Septim Hotel_, certainly, but silk banners and plush furnishings in the foyer spoke to the sort of people they served.

_So what are_ we_ doing here, of all places?_

Lucien took my cloak. I blinked as he found a place with his by hooks near the fire to let them dry. The lighting was low here, enough to see by but just dim enough to be soothing, to give an ambiance of elegance from the sconces on the walls. It was mostly quiet – a table where two Elves held hands, heads close, whispering and giggling. Another where three men, one I recognized as working in the Castle treasury, laughed and drank over their business. Scattered loners.

It wasn't hard to find a more secluded spot near one of the windows. It rattled when the wind howled, making the warmth in here all the more welcome. And to my surprise I as I went to sit, he beat me to it – pulling the chair out for me.

I gawked for a long moment. Finally, remembering the manners Madame Tucket had worked so hard to drill into me all those years ago, I sat. "… _Thank_ you." _What is going on with him? Since when is he a gentleman?_

But he only gave a nod and a little smile just tinged with his usual smirk, the hint of something more so faint it almost seemed a trick of the light. Sitting opposite of me, hands folded.

_Alright._ I drew a breath, steeled myself. Whatever the reason for this odd behavior, it was sure to come out eventually. For now, I still needed answers for the Night Mother's gift. As long as I kept it quiet and discreet, it would be alright. "I wanted to ask you about – about your mother's gift." Subtle enough. I pursed my lips as he hiked a brow, lowering my gaze.

"I… I haven't – figured out exactly what to do with it." My words were loaded, the meaning obvious to us both even if any eavesdropper would hear nothing of interest.

His expression settled. "Later."

"I…"

His gaze flickered away. A young woman dipped her head towards us both, giving a polite smile. "Good evening, sir, miss. May I bring you something to drink?"

"Surilie's Red, 399, if you have it."

She left, and I scoffed. I hadn't meant to. The sound left me almost instinctually, leaving me to shrink under Lucien's sudden look of interest.

"Is something the _matter?__"_

"No, no! Well, it's much too _expensive,_ if you ask me, but…" I shrugged, doing my best to keep things light-hearted. Later, he said. I could live with later. "It _is _your treat, as you said."

"Quite." A twitch of a smirk. "You prefer another vintage, then?"

"Always been a fan of mead, myself, but I like good wine, too. I just think you're paying for the year, in this case."

"Isn't that the point?"

"The year on the _bottle,_ not the taste in the glass." I shook my head, smiling in spite of myself. Of all the things I'd expected to discuss tonight, this certainly wasn't among them. "It sounds good, but aging past a certain point I think you taste more wood and leather than anything else. And Tamika's is the better brand, anyway."

He chuckled. "There are some that would fight you to the death on that."

"Then they can damn well come and fight me." I felt – good. Silly, even a bit impish as I flashed a grin and shrugged. "One of my colleagues in the University travelled to Skingrad, studied the growing methods for both vineries and compared them. We all – ah, helped him _test _his samples, his hypothesis." What a fun night that had been, and what a miserable morning. "Tamika's takes greater care, has juicier grapes and is, in short, the superior product."

The girl arrived with the wine, filling our goblets high and taking our requests for supper before departing. Lucien took his in hand and gave it a lazy swirl, regarding me with a smirk and hooded eyes. "And if I said I disagreed?"

"Then you can sit there and be wrong." I muffled laughter behind my hand. What an unexpectedly pleasant turn this evening had taken. "I'll try not to hold it against you."

"Generous as always." A snicker. I felt a rush of warmth through me and turned my gaze away, swallowing hard. Those same questions – my guilt for feeling how I did about him, whether it was right, whether he even returned those feelings – all came rushing back.

"Have you considered that perhaps it is your tasting that is flawed?"

_That _got me out of my thoughts. My head snapped up and I glared, even while trying to hold back a grin. "Don't you dare. I have an _excellent_ sense of taste and my nose is plenty keen. I pick up all the subtleties."

"Perhaps a bit too much so. Take it slower, this time. Smaller sips." He nodded his chin towards my untouched goblet before taking a sip from his own, only speaking after. "Surilie's is more bitter, true, doesn't go down so easily, but savour it and I believe you'll find it sweeter than you may think. And perhaps your tastes have changed over time, hm?"

I wrinkled my nose at him, but picked up the goblet. Fine. It _had _been a long time since I'd tried it. I inhaled for a moment before sipping, just a small mouthful that I let sit on my tongue. The smoke hit first, then something like – like vanilla, like cedar. Then almost cinnamony, the spice of cloves. A woodfire cooking dessert.

Complex, but not unpleasant. Not at all like I'd experienced, smoke and bitter tannin, as a girl. And as I savoured, swallowed…

Yes. Sweeter than I'd expected, after all.

He looked smug. Or at least to _me_ his smile looked smug, knowing he was right after all. I gave a half-hearted glare before giggling. "Alright. Alright, _yes,_ it is good. Better than I thought."

"I am _so _pleased it is to your satisfaction."

Yes, ever smug. Infuriating. But then he'd bought the wine, after all. Had taken me here, and I still didn't know _why, _couldn't understand this sudden generosity. My gaze strayed around the room again for a moment as I lost myself in thought_. Acting like a gentleman._ Across the room the young couple held hands over the table, sighing, whispering. _What's gotten into him, to make him…_

I sat upright. Feeling realization trickle in, feeling my face go hot. A rush of apprehension, of thrill. He caught my eye, brow quirked, and I let out a breathless laugh in disbelief.

"Are you…" Taking my cloak, sitting me down, buying me _dinner._ "Are you _courting_ me? Is that what this is?"

His expression withered some, flat in the face of my giggles. "You_ said_ you wanted as much. Hence…"

I couldn't help myself. I muffled my laughter behind my hand, blinked away tears. Not at him, though the look on his face didn't help. Not mocking but just unable to fully _believe _this, hardly daring to think that, maybe…

Our food arrived with the soft thump of plates on tablecloth. Lucien thanked our server – I could barely speak just then, still red in the face – and in relative silence, we ate. I was sure it was good, excellent even, but in truth I barely tasted it. I tried not to stare, truly, I did, but it felt like every other moment Lucien was catching my gaze on him and I'd look away, face flushed.

I wanted to know. I wanted to know for certain he meant what I _hoped_ he meant, doing this, but I didn't know how to ask. So I enjoyed the meal as best I could, and occasionally I let my gaze linger a little too long on him in the meantime.

When we finished, I moved with him in a daze. Trailing behind as he paid for our meals and the wine, feeling an indulgent little flicker of guilt at the amount of coin I heard hitting the counter. Shrugging on my cloak as he did his, pulling the hood over my head when we stepped back out into the world.

_Wow._

The storm had settled now, and the world had been crystallized, reborn. Dirty snowdrifts covered in fresh blankets, frost traced in patterns across windows, an eerie stillness in the air seeming to tinkle and chime like silver bells.

Our breath left us in clouds, white wisps that floated off into a star-studded sky. I looked up for a long moment before glancing over at him. "What now?"

A pause. He inhaled slowly, releasing it in a low sigh. _Maybe he didn't plan past this. How often does he court women, anyway?_ The thought came with affection, with a sudden push of bravery. I took his hand in mine. He glanced over, silent but questioning.

"… Why don't we go for a walk? We'll be alright if we stay bundled up. Just outside the wall, down the road. Towards the Fort, maybe."

A pause. After a moment that seemed to satisfy and he nodded. Under the glittering sky we walked through the city fallen silent now. A few stray lanterns still hung lit, a few guards patrolled and late night stragglers wandered, but for the most part it was…

It was peaceful. Beautiful. And past even that, beyond the gates, it was like our own little world, bright under the moons and all cast in white blankets and lace and glass. The snow was still fresh, still wet and sticky enough to cling as we trod through. Slippery enough that I lost my footing, him snorting and reaching for me where I'd managed to catch myself kneeling in the snow.

Oh, that was cold. Very, _very_ cold, my hands suddenly fairly well buried as I caught my fall, and then an idea hit. "Are you sure this is wise, pet?"

Just as he was helping me up I unleashed my handful of snow into his face. He blinked, the ice melting and dripping down his cheek, clinging to dark lashes and the muzzle on his chin. "Yes." I grinned at him, biting my lip as he wiped the snow away. _"Very."_

Ohh, _that _was a look, alright. I began to back away, up the trail towards the fort as he stalked towards me. A predatory purr. _"Think again."_

I ran. Footfalls heavy and clumsy in the carpet of white, making escape difficult as he slowly prowled behind me. I glanced back just in time to see him rise from kneeling –

Just in time to get a faceful of white and cold, cold, _cold_, leaving me sputtering, my cheeks stinging. I shivered and glared, gasping aloud between giggles as the snow began to melt down my collar. "Oh, that's _freezing!"_

"_I am well aware."_

"Well, here's a reminder, anyway!"

We carried on like that. _Played _like that, like we hadn't a care in the world besides each other and those moments. Like we – or at least, like_ I_ really was just some happy, lovestruck fool. Like we hadn't met over the point of a blade, like we weren't fighting for our lives together but weeks ago. I lost myself to it, more than happy to push all those truths away.

The reminder came starkly. We'd continued the fight, me laughing aloud and slipping and cursing, throwing snowballs that went wide more often than not. Him following after with strategic blows in revenge, closing the distance until at last he pounced. We rolled into the snow for a moment, first me atop, then flipped down so I felt that icy blanket against my back, his weight above –

And I froze.

It all flooded back. The snow beneath me, the smoke in the air, the traitor astride and leaning so close that I could see his teeth gleam with blood, his hands wrapped around my neck so tight…

I must have whimpered, made some sound that alerted him something was wrong. He rose up from me, still close but his weight gone as I tried to bring myself back, suddenly shaking. "Dust?"

"I – I, it's nothing, I just…" I clutched at my throat and his eyes darkened, understanding. So _stupid._ I blinked back tears of self-loathing, shaking my head. Dammit, I just wanted to _enjoy _this. Not think about what had happened, or what he was, or what lay ahead of us…

_He's right. Again, gods dammit. I do think too much._

I grabbed another fistful of snow, laugh shaky. He disarmed me with a playful growl and our battle continued. For a while I left my memories of that night behind, chasing, taunting until we were both thoroughly soaked and on the verge of freezing.

I shivered now, teeth chattering. "I th-think we-we'd better guh-get inside."

"Yes." If he felt the cold as much as I did, he didn't show it. Still, he took decisive action in leading me up the snowy hill we'd torn up in our battle, towards the safety and warmth of his home. This time, though I closed my eyes and fought back fear in the descent, I didn't hesitate to accept his help coming down.

He took our cloaks again, then stripped off his shirt and boots all to dry by the fire. My outer layers joined those and I found the spot I had there the last time I'd visited, roasting myself by the fire. Slowly life crept back into my reddened hands, delicious shivers of heat down my back.

A creaking, down the black hall that lead off from his main room. "What was that?"

"A skeletal guardian. Much like the one in the Sanctuary. Pay them no mind – they simply defend this place in my absence." I glanced over at him, grinning to see he was toweling off soaken hair. His scarred back, his lithe frame shadowed and flickered in the light of the fire, highlighting structure.

"Did you make them yourself?"

A low chuckle. "I am a man of many talents, but necromancy is not one of them. We have a Sister who practices such arts. It is she who creates them, and who will undoubtedly pass on those methods to an apprentice within the Family."

"… Ah." I nodded, hugging myself and turning back to the fire again for a moment. I couldn't hear that word without thinking of Bolor. It still felt strange, to think of him. He was part of another life now, another me.

"Your lover. The Dunmer." I stiffened. He spoke so casually. "The one who was going to help the traitor. He was a necromancer, was he not?"

I glared, though I couldn't muster any real venom behind it. Not tonight. _Courting_. I could never have believed it possible. "He's long gone by now, I imagine." Pursuing his first love, his work. But he'd saved me that night. He would have killed me, but I couldn't bring myself to feel anything less than affection for his memory. He'd done vile things, and yet he'd cared. He'd laughed with me, grieved with me, loved me.

…Could Lucien do the same?

"First a necromancer, then an assassin." A low snicker. I pouted, crossing my arms and glaring over at him from the embrace of the hearth, unwilling to leave it. "Have a like for dangerous men, have you?"

I flustered, indignant. "Well, it's not like I go around _purposely _falling for men like _you_ – "

A beat.

_Oh._

_Oh, damn._

I'd said it. Too late to take it back, too late to try and justify or change it. I'd _fallen_ for him. The words hung between us now, plain as day. His lips stayed parted for a long moment as though to speak, though no sound left him. His head tilted in thought, awaiting me to continue.

"… I don't – you were right. This doesn't have to be a _thing_, it doesn't need a title." I spoke stiffly, quickly, trying to get it over with. "I don't expect you to turn around and feel like I do, I don't expect you to do _anything_ but – but there it is." I hugged myself tighter still, shivering despite the warmth of the fire. I felt suddenly light headed again, tied down only by the anxious squirm of my stomach, the fluttering in my chest. "... Take it as you will."

He came to sit beside me. Part of me wanted to throw myself at him, damned with the consequences and doubt, damned if I was nothing more than a bedwarmer in his eyes. Part of me wanted to shy away.

I did neither. But neither did I fight when he reached for me, a hand under my chin to catch my gaze, wondering what he saw. Swallowing hard but melting at his smirk.

"I told you, pet." His words were spoken close enough that I felt his breath ghost over my lips, our brows almost touching. "You_ think _too much. Some things are better acted upon."

First his lips on mine, then ghosting across my neck in a way that made me forget I'd ever been cold at all. My sleeves sliding down my shoulders, my fingers clumsy and much too slow at my bodice. I looked up again, biting my lip, setting my jaw.

It was almost with defiance I spoke, holding his dark eyes to mine. "Then help me stop thinking." I ran my hand up his bare arm to rest on his shoulder, grazing my nails down his back as with the other I pulled apart the laces. "_Help_ me act on it."

He did.


	40. Chapter Forty

I awoke early, startled at the warmth surrounding me. The sound of another's breathing, low and deep, the brush of his body beside mine as he stirred without waking. For a moment last night felt like a dream.

I made it real, cemented it by pulling closer still to him, inhaling his scent. Grinning to myself beside him.

_Gods._

Sore and pleasantly exhausted I stretched out carefully, not wanting to wake him just yet. Examining myself, noting with a little flicker of pleasure the little bruises on my hip, the red marks down his neck where I'd nipped and bitten. _Some things are better acted on._

Well, we'd certainly accomplished _that._ Satisfaction and contentment filled me to the brim, making me feel sweet and warm and lazy. The thought of putting my bare feet to that undoubtedly ice-cold stone floor, of venturing outside to go home and open shop for the day…

Just once. Just once I could afford to open late, couldn't I? Just for today. I nestled in as close as I dared, letting my leg slide between his, my head fall to his chest. Just watching him, soaking in his presence and remembering the night we'd shared.

Silly and playful and intense and impossible and _guilt-ridden,_knowing what he was, and yet I couldn't bring myself to regret it. I pressed my lips to his jawline for a moment. His eyelids flickered, but he didn't wake just yet.

With Bolor pleasure had been airy, warm and sweet like basking in summer sunlight. With Lucien, it felt more like a wildfire. Consuming identity, white-hot and fiery, taking as much as we gave.

It had been – _wonderful_. It had been…

_Filthy!_

"_Oh!__"_ A shriek left me, a little squeak of alarm as I practically threw myself from the bed, well pulling half the sheets with me, staring back up. What? _What?_ The hairs on the back of my neck raised, heart suddenly slamming against my ribs.

Lucien was up now, alright. Fully alert and a blade drawn – apparently he kept a little dagger between the mattress and headboard. Of_course_ he would. For a moment I thought it was him, or I'd imagined it but then –

_Filthy, filthy-dirty it isn't fair, mother-killer-dog, it isn't right, no, no –_

Lucien only watched me. Brow furrowed for a moment before he stood upright again, letting his weapon fall with the rise of his brow. A drawl. "Bad dreams, pet?"

"N-no." I'd heard it. I _knew_ I had, but heard _what_? A whimper those words in my head, somehow so familiar. He stared longer still now, pressing me to talk without saying a word. I swallowed hard. It all spilled out at once, my chest hammering inside out. "Ijustheardavoiceinmyheadsay_filthy_."

A moment to absorb my words. His lips twisted in a smirk as he echoed me, the voice. "Filthy." A quiet snicker. "You weren't a virgin before we met, were you?"

"_No!__"_

"Pity. Could have used another notch on my belt." He only chuckled as I glowered. "Relax, pet. You're overthinking things again. A guilty conscience, perhaps? Not used to such indulgences?"

"I didn't think it, I _heard _it, and I don't feel _guilty_– " Well, not about what I'd done so much as with _who_, anyway. A chuckle on his end as I stormed over to my crumpled clothing.

_Maybe – maybe it was just a dream. I wasn't as awake as I thought_. I shook my head, gathering up my things to dress. Smallclothes, then the dress mum had bought me, thankfully mostly dry after our snowy escapades the night before. Feeling for a moment the warm soul gem in my pocket –

_Filthyfilthyhate, hate him, mother we'll make him suffer make him bleed for it, Maria, my Maria –_

Icy realization. I stumbled back again, clutching the table behind me for support. A hoarse whisper. "The traitor."

Lucien, dressing himself, paused. _"…What?"_

"I heard, I _know_ I heard… – " I pulled the soul gem from my pocket, staring at it with eyes wide. Purplish black it caught only flickers of light from the wall sconces, more seeming to glow with an energy within.

The Night Mother's gift. The traitor. _"I would not send you away empty-handed, granddaughter..."_

"The traitor's soul." I dropped the gem. It hit the floor, rolled away before coming to a stop. My hands felt numb, tingling in pinpricks, horror uncurling in my chest. "She gave me the traitor's _soul.__"_

We both took pause for a long moment. Finally, he moved – stepping over to the soul gem, picking it up. I half expected it to burn him, the loathing the soul held lashing out, but he only turned it over in his palm and shook his head. "It is filled, I know. But I hear nothing."

"I swear. I swear, Lucien, I heard it. He's dead, I know, but I _heard_ it."

_Dead! If I were dead I'd be with mother, my poor mother, nonono, trapped, trapped and tied and bound to the whore, trapped and –_ I cringed, dragging a hand through my hair. Lucien offered the gem and only reluctantly I took it, squeezing it tight.

"He says – it isn't fair. That he isn't just dead but trapped, b-bound – " The _whore._ I gave a rasping laugh, mirthless. "Bound to me. The night She gave it to me, it, it _has_ to be."

"Yes." He regarded me intensely now, stepping closer. A gentle hand on my shoulder. "Calm yourself, pet. He can't harm either of us, not like this." A tightening of his lips, a flash behind his eyes – the ones the Night Mother had given him, after Bellamont devoured his. A vicious hiss. "Never again."

"Why would She _give _me this?" All the warmth and sweetness of the night before had died now, cold ashes, gritty and bitter. I stalked away from him, still clutching the gem, terrified when it might speak again. "Why would She think I'd _want_ this?"

"Our Dark Matron's motives are, at times, difficult to understand. But if she gave it to you – "

"_Your _Matron, Lucien, not mine." I whirled on him, ashes suddenly exploding into embers. I didn't need this, _gods,_ I didn't need this reminder. My hand moved to my throat, the ring of bruises long gone but the memories coming back clear. Was this to _mock _me? To hurt me, an outsider who dared invade their Family? She'd taken my mother from me, made her into something else that night and I thought I could forgive that, but this, this salt in the wound -

Lucien stilled. Voice low, a soft warning. "Dust…"

"_Well!?_ Why would She _do_ this? I don't give a damn about her _fucking _motives, I should, I should _destroy_ it, I should – "

"_Dust."_ Harder now but I pushed through, snarling at him even as tears blurred my vision.

"_Don't,_ I know what you're thinking and you're _wrong._ Gods _dammit,_ first maman and now this, that, that _bitch_ – "

The sound hit me first, pain following only after. Lucien stood back, looking almost surprised at what he'd done as I stared and moved to feel the stinging heat on my cheek. I felt my jaw hang, then tremble.

A deep breath. He closed his eyes, voice tight, words slow and deliberate. "You do not. Speak of_ Her. _That way."

I stared a moment longer, in shock. Mouthing words that I couldn't bring past my lips, shaking my head. A step back, another.

And I ran from him.

Through those long, echoing halls, past the guardians that turned skulls on creaking necks to watch with hollow eyes as I fled. I didn't stop, not outside in the suddenly painfully bright world, not through the morning crowd, not until I was safely in my home where I could slam the door shut and lock it all out there.

_You see?_

"Shut up." I clutched at my head again. It really did seem to come from within me – connected to the soul gem, but poured inside my mind to echo. That horrible rasp, so familiar, so close to my ear with his hands around my throat…

_They would kill you, too. All of them. Your mother, your lover, bastard mother-killer. I was only taking what was mine._ A snarl, enough to make me flinch. _Red, red, red._ _Justice!_

"Shut _up!_ _Please_."

A welcome silence. I gulped back tears, hugging myself tight to keep from falling apart. Putting a hand on my cheek where he'd slapped me, though it no longer hurt.

The thought that just last night I'd played with him, laughed and taunted and sighed in his arms, seemed suddenly so far away.

The door clicked behind me, unlocking. Besides myself, only members of the Brotherhood had a key, lest they needed my services late night. Gods dammit all, not now – who was it? Him following, or Antoinetta, or Telaendril coming to 'check on me'. I stalked over with a snarl through gritted teeth as it opened, anger hot and sick. Not caring if it might mean punishment, not caring what they thought. "Get _off _my doorstep, you – "

"That's hardly the way to greet your mother."

It all melted away in an instant. A flicker of disbelief first, then relief flooding me. "Maman."

I fell into her arms as she did mine, a quick, but tight embrace before with a chuckle she ushered me in so she could follow, out of the cold. She shrugged off a shawl, silver earrings tilting and clinking as she looked around the room with a pleased sigh.

"And look what you've done with this place. _Oh,_ my Dust. It's lovely."

"Only because you gave it to me." Love, gods, fierce love for her even as my stomach roiled with anger too, remembering the last time we'd spoken. "What are you doing here?"

"A little work to be done nearby, and of course I had to take the chance to come and see you." Her smile was fond as she examined my work – the lacy curtains, how I'd arranged my potions to show off the prettier, more expensive ones first, the painting Lythandas had given me on the wall. Everything I'd done to make this place mine. "I'll return to Kvatch after this - it will be good to be home." Finally she turned back to me, a frown drawing lines in her brow, under her dark eyes.

"… What's the matter, _mon chou?"_

Shit. I drew a breath, then shook my head and turned away. "I – nothing, maman. Can I get you some tea?" I tried to make my voice lighter now, more cheerful. "I've got a lovely blend for this kind of weather, ginger and cloves – "

"_Dust."_ A push to speak, vowel dragged, insistent and oh so very maternal. Even turned away I could see her face, the raised brow, the lowered chin. The way I'd heard my name said a thousand times before.

"I just…" I gave a long sigh. For an excuse not to look at her, just for a moment, I started making the tea anyway. The fire, first. A little coaxing, an extra log and it sprung to life, warming the chilly foyer. "... It's complicated."

"Most important things usually are." She took a seat at the kitchen table, waiting patiently until I joined her with two steaming mugs. That inquisitive, even _demanding _look again. I laughed half in exasperation, shaking my head before letting it falter.

"… Lucien and I had – an argument."

"Did you?" She accepted the mug, prim and elegant, only sipping after she spoke. "I thought you'd have finally worked through all that by_ bedding _each other."

Ginger up my nose as I sputtered and choked. Oh, that burned, almost as hot as my face as I gawked. "_Maman!_ Wh – how do you – "

"Your hair is a mess, your _bodice _is laced wrong – " My face burned redder still as I glanced down to confirm that – "And the tension has been so palpable you could slice it with a _knife_ since we dealt with the traitor." She drowned her smirk, watching me with eyes glittering in amusement. "I knew it would happen sooner or later."

The traitor. I swallowed tight, avoiding her gaze for a long moment before pulling the stone from my pocket and setting it before her. She paused, lips parting, as I spoke. "The traitor is exactly the problem."

"… The soul gem. The gift our Matron gave to you."

_Your matron, yours, not mine_, but I wasn't about to go through that argument all over again if I could help it. Still, it seemed inevitable now. I clutched the mug tight, keeping my gaze firmly affixed to the table. "He – spoke, this morning. From it. It's his soul in there, and now I've got his voice in my head." It left me in spite of myself, a bitter whisper. "Some gift."

"You argued over this." She nodded slowly, taking the gem to run a thumb over the dark surface. "Because you… are unhappy about it."

"Unhappy, _yes,_ let's call it that, and he_ slapped_ me in return." Gods dammit all. Just once, just _once_ since all this began I just wanted to have her on my side. But already I could tell…

"I know this has been – _more_ than difficult. And you have great reason to be angry with all of us. But the Night Mother _protected _you, Dust. She spoke to you."

That was true. Still. I stood and stalked away from the table, shaking with anger. "I just don't _understand_. And I thought…" To my frustration tears welled up. I swallowed hard, trying to push them away. At least anger felt somewhat good, a release. "… After last night – he was _kind_ to me. I told him how, how I felt and I thought – but when I insulted Her, he just – " A sob broke through. I sucked it back in, gritted my teeth, dug my nails into my arms wrapped around myself.

"… You two endured quite a lot together. I think he _does_ care for you, Dusty. As do I, of course." Footsteps behind me. I stiffened, but I didn't pull away as she lay a hand on my back, coming around to face me. Gentle at first her expression, then hardening. Not angry but firm, even with her voice so soft.

"But if you insulted the Night Mother to me? _I _would have slapped you, too."

It felt like she had. I blinked back tears, stinging inside, pulling away from her. She watched me sadly, inhaling, shaking her head.

"Dust – "

"Don't."

"_Gabby.__"_

I froze. "… _Papa_ named me that. 'Stendarr is my Might.' Not. _You_. It's _your_ Night Mother under that statue he told me about, it was _you,_ you who – " Tears came freely now, the hitches of breath raw and gulping. "_Everything,_ maman, papa and everyone you killed, and being stuck _here_, and fuh-falling in, falling for a _murderer _– "

And yet without her dagger, I'd have died the night I met him. If the Night Mother hadn't spoken, I'd have been strangled by the traitor, some other girl's soul harboured in my body. Mum had given me my home, my purpose.

Too much. Too many conflicted emotions warring and leaving a scarred battlefield behind, stricken and swirling, overwhelming.

"Hate me, if you must." Her voice too was tight with emotion, straining in a way I so rarely heard it. She captured my cheek, circling it in her palm. Trying to make me meet her gaze but I _couldn't,_ I couldn't bear it. "I wouldn't blame you for it, _chérie_. But do you remember what I said, in Applewatch?"

_Hate me all you want, mon chou. So long as you love me, too._ Loving her as my mother, despising the woman she was beyond that. _You cannot accept only shards of a person._

It was all, or nothing.

"I don't want Stendarr. Or the Night Mother, or…" I drew a ragged breath, shaking my head. "… I want to be alone."

"_Chérie_…"

"Please."

A pause. She stroked my cheek for a moment with a heavy sigh, gaze flickering away. "… Alright. I – I'm not staying long, but…next time. I'll come see you again, Dust. _Please, mon chou." _Her brow hit mine. I didn't pull away. "Make the best of it. All I want for you is to be happy. Not as my Family, but as my daughter."

I rested my hand over hers for a moment on my cheek, holding it. Squeezing tight enough that I was sure it hurt, before I let her go.

When the door fell behind her, two forgotten mugs of tea cooling on the table, I slumped. Suddenly so, so tired. Locking the door behind her – I wasn't running shop today, not like this, sick with anger and hurt and guilt. Scooping the soul gem from between the mugs and squeezing it, too, moving upstairs to collapse into my bed and weep like a child.

_You should hate them. _Sickly gentle his voice now, a shiver down my spine. _They took everything from you, just like they did me. Murdered my mother, turned yours into a murderer._ A pause. The worst part was how _plaintively_ he spoke, how genuine. _I know how it feels._

I clutched the soul gem tight enough to hurt.

"… Shut up."

I slept the day away.


	41. Chapter Forty-One

I was _almost _getting used to it.

I hid away that first day, on the second opening shop, trying to get on with my life. Knowing maman had already left. Avoiding the Sanctuary, avoiding leaving the safety of home at_ all_ until the ramblings and gruesome poetry whispered in my ear drove me to try and seek answers elsewhere.

Ohtesse, the healer at the Chapel of Arkay. The god of death and rebirth, the endlessly spinning wheel of life. We'd spoken every so often since we met, and it seemed the best avenue I could pursue after –

… After everything.

"_A soul gem that speaks?" _I could hear her frown even now, see the tilt of her head as I worked in my laboratory. _"I've never heard of such a thing, no. They are – full of energy, yes, of life, but only as horrid tools to twist and trap it."_

_Trapped, trapped._ He echoed the memory now. I ground harder into the void salts, able to smell the ozone, feel the staticky crackle as a welcome distraction up my fingers, through my gloves. Odd – the Castle had requested a massive stock of shock poisons that morning for their guards. Why, I couldn't imagine.

"_Is it – possible, do you think?"_

"_There are anomalies, of course. Azura's Star, for example, is unlike any other. The Divines and the Daedra touch things in ways we cannot understand. Is everything alright, Dust?"_ Warm, the memory of her gentle questioning. _"What makes you ask about this?_

"_Just – just something I read about."_

"_Are you feeling alright? You don't look so well."_

"_I'm just tired, that's all. Very busy."_

"_Take care of yourself, won't you? We appreciate all you've done for us – don't think I didn't notice the discount on our healing supplies – but you need to care for yourself, too. If you need to talk…"_

"_Thank you, Ohtesse."_

Guilt resurfaced at how I'd left her, confused and concerned. Guilt, joining the shame that had been brewing in me since the incident.

Maybe – maybe they were right.

It felt like the crackling was in my chest now, sharp and painful. I bowed my head over my work for a moment before stepping away.

Of course I had a right to be angry. But I'd insulted something – someone they held so dear. Their purpose, their Family. And as much as I recoiled at knowing what they did, as much as I couldn't think to bring myself to join them…

I'd hurt them. And I realized with a flicker of irony that if anyone insulted my mother, I'd certainly have slapped them myself.

_Mothermothermother –_

He spoke often of his mother. The whole reason for his treachery, the 'justice' he so craved. He'd been a little boy when it happened, hiding under the bed. His father had placed a contract on his wife, and...

And Lucien had carried it out. Cleaving an innocent woman's neck from nape, to topple to the floor and meet her son's eyes one final time. Never knowing he'd been witnessed, never knowing the hatred he'd spawned that day. The traitor had infiltrated the Brotherhood, had waited patient years for his chance at revenge.

And even knowing he would have killed me that night, even hating him, repulsed by him…

I pitied him, too.

"I'm sorry about her. About your mother."

_SmelledlikeapplesApplewatch, I didn't miss that, no, it was meant to be but it all went wrong, trapped…_ a lower hiss, like a candle beginning to sputter out_. Trapped__…_

"I'd free you, if I could. Send you on to whatever waits for you next."

_You'll need me._

I stiffened at that, pausing in my work. "… Why?"

_I don't know. She knows. She has plans. Mother-bitch-nightshade-bride, shadowed children of death. Don't go back to them._ A scoff as I shook my head, beginning to toss the void salts with powdered Cairn Bolete Cap. Alone the salts would be useless, but with a pinch of ectoplasm and the fungi charging it the energy would build, waiting to be released in a cloud of lightning like the atronachs they came from. And even besides I had vials of poison for it, to be slicked onto blades humming with static.

"… I was wrong. Even if I'm not a murderer, even if I – I _hate _Her, I…" Finally, I stepped back. Peeling off my gloves, my mask. "… I was wrong to insult her to them."

And more than that. I didn't give a damn about the Night Mother, that much was certain, but I cared about _them_. Even for the part of me that was still angry, still spitting with resentment, I missed them. I missed Netta's laugh, Vicente's calm smile. I missed the company of a Family even if it wasn't mine. I even missed the others, those I knew only faintly but had come to see as familiar.

And of course, I missed _him_. After that night, laughing over wine, in the snow…

I still wanted that.

_From a murderer? A mother-killing bastard dog-pig, hate, HATE –_

"Shhh." More softly now I soothed him, more gently. Partially out of the pity I felt – partially because it was the only thing that seemed to work, like lulling a screaming child to sleep.

_You sing to yourself. _He seemed to respond to my thoughts much of the time, latching on. His words a whimper now. Softer, like he was exhausted and beginning to drift away. _Mother sang those songs, too._

Just like maman had, to me. The same Bretony lullabies and ditties. I shook my head and rubbed at my arms, driving away the shivers his voice always left in me. "Shh."

_Don't go. Let the hatred build, finish what I could not. Don't be his plaything._

I inhaled sharply at that. "I am _not _his plaything."

_You cried out for him in your sleep, last night._

I felt heat crawl up my face, over my shoulders. The pity evaporated. "Shut _up_, Bellamont."

_I'd hoped you were different, prayed. That I might have a second chance through you. But you're no better than they are._

I gripped the soul gem tight in my pocket as though to muffle the voice. Remembering the glisten of viscera on his teeth, his weight on me pressing me into the snow, black speckling my vision as he strangled me. "… Better them than _you_."

Silence, then. I finished cleaning up, mulling on how to approach it. Maybe – my potions were due today, anyway. I could just stop by for that, as an excuse. He might not be there, but I could check first, at least. I slung the basket over my shoulder and dressed, noting for a moment I was wearing the robes Lucien had bought me.

He still hadn't called in his favour.

Though for practice I'd entered through the Black Door like I belonged, this time I crept in like an intruder. Smiling as their pet rat came to me for scraps, making my way down the halls to the same room where the Black Hand had met. Voices from behind the heavy door, muffled.

"...Nothing we can do."

"What if they appear _here_?"

"We will be ready. Have all our Brothers and Sisters on guard for even the slightest hint of trouble, and withdraw them from any contracts to the West. They will have to wait."

"How long?"

Lucien, Ocheeva, Vicente. I frowned and paused there, tilting my head to the door_. A dangerous habit to keep, in a place like this…_

"The entirety of the Kvatch Sanctuary is with her. We can only pray the Night Mother protects them."

Kvatch? _Her?_

"The Imperial Guard will be swarming over the incident. We cannot risk sending aid without drawing attention to our own." Lucien, voice cold and hard, and yet – no one was disagreeing with him. It was like he was trying to convince himself. A shiver down my back, remembering the last time I'd heard it like that – when he'd commanded me to awaken the Orc, to let him die for our own safety. "There is _nothing_ we can do."

"What will we tell…" Vicente paused, trailing off. Dread trickled icy down my back, tight in my throat, my blood beginning to run cold. I pushed the doors open and stepped in, staring back at the eyes on me. The vampire sighed. "… Dust."

"Tell me _what._" My voice shook. "What's happened?"

"Kvatch is under siege." Ocheeva spoke now, squaring her shoulders. "Some – portal to Oblivion, a hellgate, has spawned there, daedra pouring in. Hundreds dead." Her eyes closed, a bow of her head. "… The Listener is there."

_Mum._

"We have no idea _why,_ what is happening." Lucien, voice a hiss through his teeth. "It would be madness to charge in blind. The Listener herself would condemn such foolishness, to put the entire Family at risk."

"And if more gates should open – Sithis preserve us, should one come _here _– we must be together to guard each other and our home."

"… You aren't going to help her." Bitter cold, the realization. I swallowed hard, like trying to choke down shards of glass and fixing my eyes on Lucien. "You – you disloyal _bastard._"

His gaze settled on me now, voice dangerously low. "You would question my loyalty," he murmured, "after what you called our Matron?"

"I don't – "

"Dust." Vicente's voice stopped me. "I am _sorry. _But Lucien is right." My heart sank as even he joined in, sympathy etching the gaunt lines of his face deep. "There is nothing we can do. Your mother is strong. She has allies, in the Family there. They will do everything they can to – "

"I'm going after her." My potions rattled together as the basket hit the table, as I turned on my heel out the door.

Lucien's grip on my arm, bruising tight, pulled me back as he growled. "You are _not_."

"Let _go _– " I pulled away. Still he stalked after me as I moved, charging forward. No, no, _no_. My footsteps hit hard but my legs felt weak, chest fluttering, hands trembling. A hellgate, under siege, _gods_ -

"Dust, listen to _reason,_ for Sithis' sake. Believe me, I _want _to be by her side, she is the Listener, my _Sister _– "

"She is my _mother!"_ I barked the words one by one, almost surprised at the force with which they left me. A deep inhale. And with him following, I ran.

Home, first. Just the necessary supplies, potions – it suddenly made sense why the guard had wanted shock poisons, preparing for an onslaught of the daedra lest they came here, too. I grabbed a handful, healing potions, rations and my cloak, my little dirk knife strapped to my belt. Against my hip the soul gem sat in my pocket, a whisper in my head.

_Something has changed. _A little burbling laugh. _Even She can't prevent it._

I ignored it. Storming outside, Lucien following again in my wake to the gates, the stables.

"Dust, this is idiocy. You will_die_out there – "

"I'd rather die loyal to her, trying to help her, then live a _coward_." I spat it at him like bile, fists curled. "She saved you, Lucien. She risked _everything_ to warn you and follow you to Applewatch."

His shoulders rolled, jaw visibly setting. "… I am telling you this for your own good. You don't even have a horse."

True. Still, that wasn't going to stop me. I marched to the stables now, to the paddocks, taking just a moment to choose a placid mare and stroke her muzzle before mounting. It was almost too easy, ignoring the consequences sure to follow.

"Hey – hey!" A teenage girl ran over from her work in the stables proper, eyes wide. "I – that horse ain't yours! _Gedoff!_"

Lucien's nares flared. "Dismount and go _home_, Dust. There is nothing we can do."

"_Hey_! I'll call the guard if you don't - "

I ignored her. Holding his dark stare, breathing hard, blinking back tears. "I don't follow your orders. I'm not loyal to your mother." My grip tight on the reins, the horse pawing the earth beneath me. "I'm loyal to _mine_."

Behind me I heard the girl shouting, quickly overcome by the thunderous roar of hooves hitting stone. I spurred the horse onwards towards a setting sun blood red over white hills, and didn't look back.


	42. Chapter Forty-Two

I could smell it long before I saw it.

Acrid, harsh and suffocating – the smell of smoke, of destruction. At sunset, after days of exhausting travel, a boiling sky and blackened trees greeted me. The smell grew stronger, my poor stolen mare giving worried whickers and whines as we came closer. We were both sore, exhausted, but pressing on. I had no other choice.

_Change._ Bellamont said that often like a whisper, a plea, repeated now as we closed in. _Something has changed._

I squeezed my eyes shut, wrinkled my nares against the caustic heat in the air. _But what?_

On the horizon rose blackened spires of what must have once been the castle, billowing clouds of smoke. A hand on her trembling flank, slick with sweat. "Almost there."

_I'm almost there, maman._

Up the main road, over the rising hill towards the high, walled city. Here at the foot of the hill were tents. I dismounted, leaving her with a haggard looking woman who tended to the legion mounts already there, restless and pawing at the earth. And all around…

Survivors. People sat together in scattered groups, whispering, sobbing, silent. Dull, pale faces drawn with exhaustion. I searched their faces for maman, my gut clenching, sinking lower with every stranger whose eyes I met. Despairing, grieving, injured. _I should have thought to bring more potions._ I bit my lip, guilt swelling in me. _If I had time, I would stop and help – if only I had time_. But mum was waiting, if she wasn't already –

No. She was waiting. I'd find her. I _had_ to.

"Come to _gawk _at our tragedy?" A harsh voice startled me – I followed it to an Altmer, glaring at me with yellow eyes. "As if we don't have enough mouths to feed, enough problems."

"Maybe she has family here, Hirtel." A Bosmer, cross-legged on a tattered mat beside him, sighed.

"I – I do." A momentary spark of hope grew in me. "My mother – she lives here. Breton, black hair, my height?"

The Bosmer shook his head. "Haven't seen her."

"She's dead." The High Elf muttered, wringing his hands, eyes flickering around him. "They _all_ are, trapped in the city. The Daedra – that portal – so many dragged off, so much blood and fire, all of them are dead…"

The traitor whispered_. You'll know, too_. I stiffened, clenching my fists._ You'll know what it's like, to lose your mother._

"Shut _UP!_"

Eyes on me. I stiffened, cheeks flushing, covering my face as the two mer stared, as others followed suit. I drew in a deep breath, swallowing it down my tightened throat. "I-I'm sorry." I reached into my bag, bringing out my healing potions, leaving them behind. "I'm so sorry."

I fled from them, then, up the hillside.

Gods, it was – unrecognizable. I'd never seen anything like it. What once must have been a proud stone city, high above the golden Colovian fields, reduced to ash and smoke. Fields burnt to nothing, dead animals from farms rotting in the heat. Even the earth itself was twisted, blackened and red in the cracks, volcanic. As I drew closer I heard noise – screams, roars, the clashing of blades and guttural hisses.

I closed my hand around a potion, feeling the crackling within. Trying to picture what I faced, what might be up there, fear weighing down my limbs.

_Maman is there._

I ran.

A battle was already taking place at the peak. Soldiers, some in Imperial armour, some guards of the city, locked in vicious battle with the daedra. Scamps and Clannfear with raking claws, dremora with swords drawn and guttural bellows. They were winning, it seemed, but only just. Their strength dwindled, but the daedra numbers only grew. More flooded in, from the portal.

Huge, shimmering, crimson. Like a gaping maw that had broken through the earth, spitting out daedra, rumbling with heat and energy. The caustic magicka, so strong here, made my hair stand on end as I edged to where they made their fortifications. 'Dragged through the portal', the survivor said. Trapping those beyond.

She couldn't be. Not in _there._ The city, first – I'd check the city. She was trapped there, maybe, hiding with other survivors from the Sanctuary, safe underground, she had to be…

"Citizen!"

I turned, eyes widening. A guard marching towards me from the other side of the walls they'd build, red-faced and shouting. "Are you _insane_, girl? Get back to the encampment, _now!_"

No time, gods dammit, there was no time for this. I snarled, then jumped back. "My mother –"A flash of fear. "_Behind you!"_

I'd thrown it, heard the clinking before it really clicked that the vial had left my hand. Rolling for a moment, settling well behind the guard who turned in confusion. And behind him the dremora, claymore raised, pause.

A crackling. An explosion. I covered my ears but still heard the roar from it, the hiss as it crumpled, blue light still tracing and sparking over its form. It sunk to its knees first, snarling, then collapsed entirely.

_Gods._

The guard inhaled harshly, eyes wide before turning to me. "I…" Another snarl. "Give those potions to the guards and get back down the hill, _now_! For your own safety, you blasted little _idiot!__"_

"I'm going into the city. I'm going to find my mother."

"Like hell you are – "

I pushed past him, towards the soldiers still battling the tide. Trying to skirt around it even as I winced at the sight, the groans of pain, the hisses and bestial growls.

Yellow eyes settled on me. A scamp, creeping closer, pouncing.

I screamed. Vicious claws dug into my shoulders, my cheek, teeth trying to latch onto my face as I pulled away. Unsheathing my dirk knife with a snick, stabbing up and almost under my chin to skewer the thing in its gut. A shriek in my face, spittle wet and I threw it off, kicked it away. It skidded, then landed still.

I cupped my cheek, gingerly feeling the deep scratches there. Adrenaline pumping, fear high and sharp in my chest…

_I have to fight. I have to find her_. Breathing heavy, knowing that this creature was just one of many_. Mum, mum, mum._

I ran towards the portal for the city gates beyond, and then I froze.

It came from the shimmering door with a bone-shaking rumble, echoing under each clawed footfall. Maw gaping, dripping with viscera and spittle, yellow eyes flickering from each soldier engaged in battle, to the guards at the back –

To me.

It almost seemed to smile. Lumbering towards me, massive, claws bared and so terribly, terribly sharp. I fumbled for a potion, threw it in my panic and saw it fall to smash on its hide –

Just as another flicker, a purplish gleam, blossomed over it. A shield spell. The lightning crackled, hissing along scales, but it only shrugged it off with a low, rumbling growl.

"No, _no _– " Another poison, this one for my blade. I pulled it out and poured, taking steps back from it, staring up. Like it enjoyed toying with me it slowed its step. The shock glaze adhered to the steel of my knife, hardening into a sheen. If I could – if…

"Get away!" The guard charged. Pushing me back to stumble, leveling his blade to aim for the belly of the Daedroth –

Red. Red, red, _red_. He swatted the guard away as easily as a fly, massive claws tearing through his stomach, a splatter of crimson as he fell, motionless. All the while it never moved its eyes from me before, finally, pouncing.

I screamed. Covered my head, fell to the ground as its weight crushed me, as that massive maw opened to swallow me whole, knowing I was going to die there. I was going to die, I hadn't found maman, I'd _failed_her -

At first I thought it had happened so fast I hadn't felt it. I'd been devoured, a mess of blood and splintered bone. And yet, the roar above me rumbled in my intact body. A thunderous baying of pain as it rose off of me, snarling, gnashing teeth at the man stepping back, shortsword pulling free of scaled hide wet with blood. I scrambled to my feet, shaking, staring.

"Lucien."

He faced it, shoulders set, head tilted as the beast prowled. Stalking, almost circling each other. Chest heaving, a little trickle of blood down his lip. All in an instant it pounced again, to him now. My shriek was lost in the chaos.

"_LUCIEN!"_

I almost couldn't have imagined how fast he moved. The viciousness with which he struck and more, the _grin _on his features, how he reveled in the bloodshed even as he fought for his life. The other guards and soldiers, locked in their own battles or backing away from the fool risking his life –

Risking his life for _me._

A snarl – from Lucien, not from the beast, of pain as the very tips of those claws caught his side. A gasp choked me. _I have to help, I have to, how_ – his blows sinking into that hide, blood gushing, but not enough, injuries wouldn't slow it. _My poison __–_

I ran as close as I dared. "Use this!"

My knife flew true, and Lucien caught it with only a glance towards me. A moment and he nodded, then braced for another pounce from the beast, tail swinging behind as it wheeled, knocking me off my feet. In one hand his shortsword, the other my poisoned blade, he gave a roar of his own and fought.

Slashing first the clawed hand that came to shred him, severing two fingers as it bellowed. And, like he had with me in training, moving into the blows – ducking under them, using them to push himself past its reach towards the creatures belly and there, to drive the dagger from beneath into its throat.

A moment of pause. The world seemed to hold as I did my breath, clutching at myself, staring at them locked together. Then a blood-dripping, sickly retch from the Daedroth. The maw slid open, the eyes rolling upwards and then popping with explosions of lightning from within its skull –

And it fell. Toppled as dead weight to the ground, tongue piebald, unmoving. And standing above it, both blades dripping blood, he stood. Slowly, his eyes turned to me. Panting, chest rising and falling hard as he wiped his sword off on its hide before sheathing it, considering his words before each deliberate syllable.

"I. Am _not._ A _coward_."

"_Lucien."_ I leapt on him, squeezing him tight. He grunted before returning the gesture, chin resting a moment atop my head. "You _bastard._ I thought – I thought you weren't coming, I thought – "

A scoff. "As though you could do this alone."

I snarled and kissed him as hard as I could.

"Idiots!" A scream now from another guard, marching over. The tide of daedra had mostly ebbed now, mercifully – only a few stray scamps being put down. Still, they'd return. He stared at us, shaking, eyes moving to the body of his fallen comrade. "Rillan – dead, dead because of _you,_ if you stayed in the camp where you belonged – "

Because of me. I opened my mouth to speak, guilt enveloping me, but Lucien took my head and turned my gaze back to his. The guard stalked off, hissing. If we died, it was our own fool fault.

"Ignore them. We have no time. I questioned others - no one in the encampment has seen her. We should check the Sanctuary here, first."

"I know – I was going into the city, if she's – "

_Through there._

I almost felt instead of heard his voice, a crawling down my back as my gaze lingered on the portal. "… No."

Lucien knew immediately what was happening. "What did he say?"

"He…" I wanted to deny it, the horror of it, but I _knew._ I knew it was true. "… He says she's through there. Through the portal."

Lucien's jaw shifted. "And you intend to trust him, do you?"

"I have to. Maybe – maybe _this_ is the Night Mother's gift. Maybe we can find her." Hope burned in me, hot and heady. I could feel it in my gut that this was _meant_ to be. It had to be, didn't it?

His whisper, again_. Something has changed. I'll help you._

He stood back, a hand moving from his side. I winced at the sight – though shallow, the wound was raw and red.

_Quickly._

He nodded, those dark eyes latched to mine. "Lead the way."

I nodded. Together we moved to the portal, high above us, churning and roiling. It seemed to _emanate_ heat, ringing with a strange and ominous energy that made my skin crawl. I slipped a hand into my pocket, gripping the gem.

"You had better be right," I hissed, knowing he was even as I prayed he was wrong.

And I stepped into hell.


	43. Chapter Forty-Three

For a moment, I thought I was mistaken about dying. I would die here. Not under the claws of the Daedroth but lost in Oblivion, head over heels over head, breathless, crackling, unable to find up or down. The magicka – _blistered_ unlike any way I'd ever known it, filled me and burned and then –

And then we were there.

The heat was dry and harsh, stinging our throats. My eyes stung, watering. I choked on ash, heaving in a lungful of burning air only to end up hacking harder. Dimly I became aware of a similar sound from Lucien beside me, giving a fitful cough himself before rising to his feet, gazing around us. A sky above us, solidity underfoot, but like I'd never known it.

The Deadlands.

I knew only what any scholar would about this place, what the Mystic Archives had told me through light reading. The realm of Mehrunes Dagon, Prince over destruction, ambition –

Bellamont's whisper again. _Change._

A cold shiver down my back even in this oppressive heat. This place – I couldn't have imagined it, not even based off what I'd read. Words couldn't capture it. It seemed to sprawl on endlessly, a churning sky thundering and swirling, black plains with volcanic fissures the land, with seas of lava popping and rumbling around. On the horizon above clouds of black I could see the silhouettes of jagged spires. In the distance I heard chaos. Screeches of the daedra, a man screaming, then the sound petering out…

And yet, for now, we were alone.

"Where now?" Lucien turned to me, grim as I clung to the soul gem and squeezed it tight. Blinking away the sting in my eyes again, trying not to breathe in the acrid air too hard. Thinking as hard as I could to the stone.

_Please. Please, Bellamont._

A shrill little giggle, then it subsided. _Follow the Northern path. She couldn't have seen this, no, no!_

"The Northern path." Lucien nodded, and we set off. Even in the black of the ground there were visible marked trails, darker still, etched into the stone and ash. Still I clutched the stone tight, whispering to it. "_What_ has changed, Bellamont? You keep saying that. What couldn't She have seen?" I suspected I knew which 'She' he meant already.

_Everything. Hurry, hurry. Mother is waiting._

Mum. I wanted to break into a run but as the path narrowed, squeezed between two towering cliffsides, I didn't dare. We had to be cautious, or we'd never make it to her at all.

_Please, maman, hang on._

The further we walked, oppressed by the rumbling and distant screams, the clearer it became we couldn't be alone much longer. All around us – gods. My stomach clenched, heaved, and if I'd had anything to bring up I'd have left it there because here –

Here were the people of Kvatch. Some, at least, who didn't make it.

On spikes and skewers, hanging disemboweled. Eyes empty, mouths agape in the agony they must have felt just before. Heads, too, with the same treatment. The ones that still had eyes, somehow worse. Like they were asking, why? Why me?

_I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry._

But I couldn't let mum be one of them, couldn't – just the thought made me stop in my tracks for a moment, hugging myself hard before pressing on. Lucien never slowed his stride. Unaffected, used to blood and gore, or was he simply too focused on the task ahead?

I didn't ask.

Now ornamented around us along with the corpses were bloated sacks, seeming to shift and gurgle. A scamp feasted on what lay within one, and largely ignored us. On a pile of meat – it didn't even look human anymore – a clannfear did the same. Strange plants, plants I'd read about in my studies of flora, crept down towards us along the shrinking cliff face. Bloodgrass in spikes, in bushes. Spiddal stick – I pulled Lucien away from a bunch, remembering the times I had worked with it, the strange, numbing, slowing fumes it gave.

And above us, creeping over the sides of the cliff and hanging down in ropes, strands under our feet on the ground joining up –

Harrada.

"_Lucien!__"_

Too late, just a second too late. He pushed me back as the vines surrounded him, wrapping around his waist, his arms, his throat, grasping and sinking in with vicious thorns and an alien strength. Hoisting him up as he choked and snarled, swinging with his shortsword until the tightening vines made that impossible, too. And for every movement he made, those thorns sank deeper.

"Lucien! Don't move – don't move, it'll make it worse, I'll – " I pulled free my dirk knife, making to chop one of the vines, jerking back as it lashed out towards me and barely avoiding their grasp. He made only a strangled gurgle in response, entire body tense above me, eyes meeting mine.

_No, no, think! Think! There has to be a way –_

_Leave him._

"What?" I recoiled at the traitor's whisper, then snarled. "No!"

_Your mother needs you, soon. Don't let him be what kills her, too. She will die without you._

_No, no._

_You must reach her._

I had to reach her in time. Wherever she was, whatever he meant by soon - I _had_ to.

But Lucien needed me _now._ He hadn't abandoned me. I wouldn't do that to him.

I approached slowly and gods, it hurt, forcing myself to be slow and quiet when all I wanted to do was grab him from the vines and haul him away if I could. But I'd never overpower them and there were too many to cut, dragging thorns into his flesh, making its grip all the more inescapable. But he was slowly strangling above me.

"Don't fight it." I spoke softly, coming as close as I dared. Memories of work, of study, whispered in my ear. "If it thinks you're dead, it will let go."

A silent snarl curled his features, face red, teeth gritted. For a moment, his eyes met mine, saying what he couldn't_. I will be, soon enough._

Harrada. I squeezed my eyes shut to remember working with it, back at the University. Julienne's warnings. Enchanted gloves, criss-crossed with laces of frost for making it docile.

"I – " I was no frost mage. But I had a flicker of the spell, not for destruction but for healing. Enough to chill, to lower a fever_. Please work, please_. "I'm going to cool your body, make it think you're dead. Make it let go. You might pass out, but don't fight it."

His eyes were dazed now, a spike of fear through me. Still there was an intensity behind them, a stare.

"Please, Lucien. Trust me."

A small, discontent grunt, then he hung still.

I whispered thanks, but I wasn't even sure he'd heard me. Slowly reaching as far as I could up his chest and wincing at the sight of torn cloth where the thorns had dug in. One of the vines clinging to him there perked up, lazily moving towards my hand. Like a snake, engorged but willing to take another free meal. As lines of frost began to emanate from my palm, however, it shrunk away.

Slowly, steadily – I put all my concentration into it, hands trembling, taking slow, deep breaths to keep the spell strong. Too little and it wouldn't work. Too much, and he'd freeze to death.

Even now frost clambered from my hands down his legs and up his torso, in etching patterns to his throat and face. I'd never used it this strong, and seeing his lashes dusted with white as though frostbitten, seeing his cheeks go waxy and breath come in a white puff, please, _please_ –

His weight on me was sudden – I fell backwards under him, the now limp vines slipping and skittering away. "Lucien – " I wrapped my arms around him to push him off and bring him to rest on the ground. Throat bruised, face lax, punctures still oozing blood. I brought out a whisper of a healing spell on him, warm and comforting like a blanket. Trying to push out the venom of the thorns, close the punctures, melt the frost away. Finally, his eyes flickered open.

"Thank the gods, thank – "I almost laughed. Thank _who?_ The Divines, the Night Mother? I reached for him, helped him up as he staggered and grunted. "I'm so sorry."

"No. You did well." He flexed his fingers, cracked his stiffened neck. Hurt, but upright, breathing. And I for my part exhausted, my head beginning to shrilly peal with lack of magicka, but a potion dealt with that. We were alive.

_But is she?_

I sucked in a breath through my teeth, clutched the gem so hard it hurt. "Please, Bellamont. You said you would help."

A pause._ Follow the path to the base of the tower. Climb_. I looked up to see as the hills had shrunk around us, the path led now to those spires I'd seen before. The base and entrance at the bottom, splitting into three towers atop.

"He says to keep going, and go up the tower." This close I could see the demora patrolling in front of it, in our path. I shuddered to think what might be inside.

_If mum's there…_

"Let's go. Be on guard, and do _not _fight unless you must," Lucien hissed the last syllable, eyes meeting mine sharp. "Stay behind me."

I swallowed hard. "… Alright."

We approached. A dremora – no, two, a scamp creeping over – began to prowl towards us, teeth bared, echoing laughter rumbling. I wanted to throw myself in, too, almost as much as I feared to. _He shouldn't have to face this alone._

In the end, when they lay dead and he mostly unscathed, I understood why he'd told me to stand back. I'd said battle was like learning to dance. It seemed almost a laughable thought, now, not the right word even for the fluid motion of form and steel. Not for something this quick, this vicious and macabre.

It hit me then just how far in over my head I'd gone. But if maman was in there, I would sooner have thrown myself into the lava than turned back.

We moved to the tall door, pushing it to groan open and blast heat in a rush like a gaping maw. In the centre, a beam. A beam of light, of energy, twisting onto itself, seeming to reach through from the base here up to the peak. A molten core, and surrounding it a pathway slowly arching upwards. The ascent was steep, but unguarded. Strange. Corpses of daedra lay there, the path skidded with blood where they'd fallen.

"Do – do you think there's someone else here?"

"There must be. Not our goal. _Focus_."

I nodded and hurried along behind, wincing away from the center of the path that allowed the beacon to rise. Here, especially here, the magicka seemed so strong as to be _rank._Invading my nostrils, making my head throb even as my own returned. Our feet left bloodied tracks behind through the path that whoever else was here had cleaved.

_Hurry,_ whispered Bellamont. _The Western Tower. Hurry._

I didn't understand why he was helping me. He hated me, hated the Night Mother and hated mine, too. Maybe he was under Her bidding, trapped in the gem. Maybe he had changed in his time there, his chance for revenge lost. But there was no time to question it. We veered off the main path – I made a point of not looking down as we rose higher and higher – until we reached a Western door, emerging back out into the breathless heat.

_Oh. Oh, no._

Stone bridges. Linking the main tower to the one West – so close, so close to where the traitor said maman was being kept, but…

Narrow. _Gods,_ they were narrow, thin black slabs of volcanic rock without even a grip on the sides and then a sheer drop below. In an instant that childish fear came rushing back to me, my stomach plummeting as my heart seemed to leap into my throat. I whimpered and fell back to the door, clinging to it on the platform as Lucien paused.

"…Watch your step and you'll be fine."

"I _can't_."

"Dust – "

"I _can'__t!_ "

A snarl of frustration. I muffled a little scream against his shoulder as he slid an arm under mine, guiding my steps, leading me forward. I clung and squeezed my eyes shut. _It's okay, he's got you. It's okay, it's okay –_

A rumbling, a crack, and I was falling, screaming. The world screeched and crumbled and I knew I'd end there, nothing to stop it. Lucien shouting, I was flying free from his arms and -

Suddenly I was flat on my back, turning to clutch the stone as best I could. The rumbling stopped, but a high-pitched peal continued – only when my lungs burned for air did I realize it was me. I stopped, coughing hard.

Broken. The bridge had snapped – Lucien, thank _gods_, Lucien safe on the other side. He'd pushed me away to get me safely down, safely on the platform. I'd barely managed a sigh of relief before I was interrupted.

_There is another here, seeking to close the portal._ He spoke hurriedly, as though frightened himself. _This plane is already falling apart._

_To close it…__?_

Lucien's stared at me, knowing that look and snapping from across the break. "_What_ is he saying?"

"Th-there's someone else here, trying, trying to close the portal." I dragged a hand over my face, feeling where the dried blood from scratches flaked. Dizzy, wanting to retch. "Bellamont, will we be trapped?"

He didn't answer.

"We don't have_ time_ for this." Lucien back on his feet came dangerously close to the shattered end of the bridge on his side, close enough to make my stomach clench in fear. "Jump."

I stood on teetering legs, squeezing my hands into fists. Maman needed me but I just, it _choked_ me, the fear so thick and sharp it burned in my chest and tinged my words with near hysteria. The ground, so far below. How high were we? Two hundred feet, three? A long, long fall before a terrible sudden stop. "I _can't_."

"I did not come all this way to stop here because you fell off a _tree_," he snarled. I tried to gulp in breaths, to push back tears. "Jump."

"I _can'__t!_ I – " The platform under my feet cracked, a line racing through and wrenching a wail from me, making me step back. _Oh, gods, oh, oh no –_ I hugged myself for nothing else to hold on to. I couldn't but I _had_ to, I couldn't but mum _needed_ me – "Lucien – "

"Those robes."

Another tiny crack under my feet, creeping through the platform. How long would it hold? His words sunk in, my robes now soaked in sweat and blood, coated in ash. "What?"

"I gave you them, and you promised me a favour in return." He smirked grimly, arms outstretched. "I'm calling in your debt. You _owe _me, pet. Jump."

Robes. I let out a hoarse, disbelieving laugh. In exchange for_ robes_ –

I could feel the platform shift, pulling another muffled shriek from me. Squeezing my eyes shut, inhaling deep. I had no choice. I'd die here, if I didn't move. Maman needed me.

And I owed him.

I jumped.

His arms secure around me, his breath warm against my cheek. Steadying me as I gasped in lungfuls of air. Taking my hand and together, carefully, we made our way across the bridge. To the Western Tower, to maman.

_Too late._

_No. No, it isn't, not yet. _I bit my tongue and tasted copper, forcing myself to bolt through fear to the doors at the last leg of the bridge. Slamming through them, hoping against hope even as the whisper echoed.

_Too late._

The smoke, the ash and cinder clouding the air, was nothing in here compared to the smell of blood.

A ring of a tower – us on a another spiraling ramp and in the center a long drop below, a pit of bodies. Some charred and unrecognizable, others clear – people from Kvatch, barely cold, eyes glassy. Some shapes large and some terribly, terribly small.

And still, more bodies around us, hanging from chains. Some suspended upsidedown through hooks in their chests or throats, blood oozing to fall on the mess below. I searched the faces even as we ran up at Bellamont's urging, turning the corner to see the top.

A dremora. Grinning at the peak and dangling from his grip, in robes ink black –

I saw her smile at him. Defiant even now, blood streaked across her teeth. I saw her tiny hands over his, on the one clutching her throat as in the other he reached for the chained hook behind her, long, vicious.

I saw her eyes narrow, and saw them widen, and saw them fade all in an instant.

I was screaming. I _knew_ I was, screaming for her and rushing up there like a rabid animal but all I heard was the rush of blood in my ears, the pound of my heart in my chest. The demora let the chain fall with the small form dangling from it, turned to me as I charged shrieking, howling, dirk knife out as though there was _anything _I could do to hurt it –

Lucien was faster. Shoving me aside with a snarl, pushing me to the ground. The dremora turned eyes on him, and behind me blades clashed.

The sounds seemed from very far away, metal on metal more a distant ringing. I rose from the top platform, staring.

"Maman."

The hook protruded through her, gored and wet still. Her chin had slumped to her chest, a trickle of red dribbling down. And her hair, her bun had come loose, locks curling wild around her ears. She always kept it tied so tight, so neat.

I could feel my lips chanting and distantly heard my own voice, a whisper growing in pitch. _No, no. No. No, no, nononono __–_

Until I was wailing, perched on the edge of the platform, uncaring of the fall into the pit below. Reaching for her on tiptoe, nearly losing my footing until Lucien came up behind me with an arm around my waist. "Dust – "

"_No!__"_ I fought him, squirming and reaching for her, so close, she was so close. Barely, just barely I could reach her hand, pull her towards me even as she hung limp. "No,_ no_ – she can't, she _can't _– "

"She's_ gone_, Dust. There is nothing we can do for her."

"_No!__"_ An almost vicious snarl at him and I elbowed, forcing him away and grasped her hand all the tighter even as I precariously teetered. Warm, she was still _warm_. "You're _here,_ maman. I can still help you, I can still _save_ you – "

_It hurts, doesn't it?_ Bellamont's whisper, strikingly loud when everything else seemed so quiet. _There's no pain like it._

"_No __– "_ I fumbled for it with my other hand, pulling it out as Lucien's grip took me again, kept me from falling with a growl. The soul gem. There had to have been a reason – Her gift, yes, this _had_ to be it. Wild hope as I pulled it out, reached to press it between my hand and hers. This had to be why, because this couldn't end any other way, it couldn't –

"Dust." Gentler now, exhausted, Lucien's murmur. "She's gone."

"_No.__"_ I wasn't defiant of it now but begging, begging because she was supposed to be here and safe, to scold me for coming for her, to kiss my brow and hold me tight. This couldn't be real, this _couldn't_ be her, eyes glassy, a line of blood tracing from her lips down her chin, _no._

The tower trembled. The world roared. Lucien swore softly behind me and Bellamont laughed, laughing then weeping both at once. _Too late. Too late for me, and now for you. She couldn't have seen this, not even Her! We both failed them. I'm sorry, mother. _Suddenly the gem in our hands, her fingers intertwined with mine, seemed to glow white-hot. The laughter, the roaring grew louder, all-encompassing –

Cries for mother. I wasn't sure if they were the traitor's, or my own.

Red crumpled into black.


	44. Chapter Forty-Four

"She's breathing."

Breath. Every breath hurt. Inhaling sparks, exhaling smoke, slowly surfacing to the sounds and sensations of the world. A hushed, constant pattering, dancing with cold feet along my skin – rain. Racing down my cheeks, tracing my cracked lips, my heat-seared eyes.

_I'm not dead._

A cold hand on my brow brought me back to reality. I forced my eyes open, the world blurry and colourless until a face swirled into view. White hair, blue eyes, a face etched with age and worry, then relief. "_There_ you are. It's alright." I stared dumbly up at him, trying to find words. "Just breathe."

I breathed, inhaling, exhaling, collecting myself in fragments. I knew I was alive. Wet, skin prickling in goosebumps from the cold, but alive. Somehow charred from the inside out, but alive. And so very thirsty. I slowly parted my lips, stretching out my tongue to let a few cold drops race down my throat and quench the burning inside. Soft, sad laughter and a waterskin was pressed to my lips. I drank greedily.

"How did you end up out here?"

Out here. Where was _here?_ On a cobblestone road, surrounded by rolling plains and fields, murky blue in the dimness. In the distance was a city – or what remained of one. Blackened, crumbling towers, naked trees and pillars of smoke that refused to be drowned by the rain. The man followed my gaze before glancing back to me, frowning. "Did you run from Kvatch, then? Not the only one. But you were alone here."

_Kvatch._

I wasn't in Kvatch, but I had been. Mum had been.

She wasn't any longer.

"Captain Phillida?"

The clop of hooves, an unknown voice. The man beside me shook his head, placing a gentle hand on my back. "Can you stand?" I nodded and he helped me to my feet where I teetered.

"We haven't found any others, Captain, down either side of the Gold Road."

I'd been found alone. Lucien was gone, then, but where? And maman – mum was gone. I half-wondered _gone where_, even as the knowledge of it made me numb.

"Not Captain any longer, Roland." A soft sigh. I felt eyes on me, but didn't look up. "I think this one is in shock. We'll take her to the camp with us." He sighed, guiding me towards one of the white horses I'd seen at the city. "I chose a poor time to retire, it seems."

"You've more than earned your retirement, sir."

"It isn't about what I deserve, but what the people of Tamriel need." I was moving again – being lifted astride the horse, the man, Captain-not-captain behind me. He took the reins and the world began to bob around me, colours and shapes bleeding together in soft-hued blues and shadows. I was helpless, mindless. A single thought flared in my mind, making me wince.

_You must go to Bravil, grand-daughter._

I felt it, then, a pull in my chest like a hook had sunk into my ribs and was pulling as hard as it could. The image visceral, me hanging there, the curved end protruding from my chest instead of –

Mercifully the whisper swelled up instead, pushing all other thought away. The name, chanted in my head over and over by a voice, Her voice. _Bravil, Bravil, Bravil._

I couldn't have fought it, even if I had the will to. The words forced themselves from my throat, a croak. "I have to go to Bravil."

An exchanged glance between the guards, then an accepting nod. "Perhaps you can travel with me, then, as I make way to Leyawiin. Do you have family in Bravil?"

Laughter in my head, soft and cruel. I laughed, too. And then, I think I cried.

I don't remember much of the journey back to the camp, or the night I spent there. I remember wondering about Lucien, knowing I should be worried but unable to dredge up the energy. Seeing my hand, the white, raw flesh where I'd held the soul gem so tight, facets impressed onto the flesh of my palm. Mostly, though, I remember the pull. The tug in my body, urging me onwards, making me restless and shuddering until a potion was forced down my throat. I remember laughing again, because the potion was one of mine.

Images. Orange red, glowing red of volcanic rock, of lazy lava flows. Pink-red on the rag used to dab at my face and clean my wounds until the water ran clear. Deep red of blood on Lucien, on me, barely visible on ink-black robes.

Then, at last, sleep.

The sun rose on Kvatch, and the people began anew.

Already, they were collecting themselves. What was left of families reuniting, the dead and the missing counted, spooked sheep lead back to their owners. The morning light gentled the ruined landscape, turning stark blacks into grays, gleaming off grass that had managed to escape unscathed. I watched from afar, hugging myself tight, separate from their tragedy.

I don't remember thinking much. My mind was blank. I was numb. I could feel Her, though, pulling and tugging me along, whispering inside me. Nothing mattered but getting to Her.

I'd tried, of course, to find Lucien. Maman, too. Asking about them both – or, rather, describing them to one of the guards, who'd been kind enough to escort me around and ask on my behalf. Words were difficult. Thorny, almost, lodged in my throat. Some knew of her – 'a lovely woman, our neighbour' they said – but none had seen her since…

Since before.

I knew. I'd known since I'd seen the palm of my hand where I'd held the soul gem. I'd known from the moment I'd reached for her in Oblivion.

I wouldn't say it. I couldn't believe it – I couldn't.

So I searched, as though I might find her. Neither were there, but it didn't surprise me. I knew where Lucien was heading – he was following the same wrenching call I heard, going to his Mother's whisper.

I would have followed, if I could have any sooner. I tried. Itching with it, almost mad with it, wandering to the foot of the hill to start down the road before being gently shepherded back. 'Shock', they said. The man who offered to take me asked me to be patient while he did what little he could here.

What choice did I have? My horse had been 'requisitioned' by the Imperial guards, replacing their own injured mounts so they could return home sooner. I had no guide, no protection.

No Lucien, no Bellamont. No Mother or voice in my head save Her and Her soft, cruel call.

"Miss?"

I startled out of my reverie, turning to face the kindly man who'd found me – the retired Captain.

"How are you feeling?"

I swallowed hard, fighting to dredge up words at all. I didn't like talking. Talking, eating, doing anything besides shutting down made all of this feel too real.

"...Fine."

"We've done all we can, here. Are you ready to leave?"

I nodded and followed him when he gestured. Many others had left already – people who would flee to Anvil or Skingrad to start a new life, other guards and villagers who had done all they could. The Captain was already prepared, his horse pawing impatiently at the earth, the guard who accompanied him mounting his own. We had discussed it the day before – or rather, he explained and I nodded. He had retired from the Imperial City and was on his way to Leyawiin when he'd heard of the trouble in Kvatch. He came to help, and now would continue South and would take me to Bravil along the way.

Safe transport. It was the best I could hope for when I could hardly think, hardly feel beyond the tug inside.

Our pace was silent and steady. Phillida and his guard would chat together over the campfire, but left me to my silence. I was glad. Grateful, even. To acknowledge it, that any of this had happened, was too much. Like if I just kept quiet enough, if I just denied it hard enough, I could turn back the hands of fate.

It was a long, long journey. Or at least, it felt so. We'd pass others time to time – some like us leaving their ruined home, others going to see if loved ones had survived the chaos. First up the Gold Road, past fields of powdery snow clinging to once high fields, then the Green Road to Bravil.

_Bravil, grand-daughter._ Her gentle laughter shuddered through me. _I am waiting._

We had made camp one dark night, just the three of us. Still, I was numb. Staring into the fire and not feeling the heat, rubbing my shoulders through the cold. Not daring to think too hard, trying to let the humming, foggy grey mist fill my mind whole. Still, I couldn't stop_ all_ thought. When the retired Captain and I met eyes again, something niggled – more at his kind smile.

"... Miss Dust."

I faced him blankly. He chuckled, a crooked, weary curve of thin lips. "... Yes. In the Imperial City, all those years ago. I helped you with your bags, when you first arrived to – the University, wasn't it?"

I parted my lips, but several long moments passed before I could speak, my voice hoarse from disuse. "... Yes." I remembered, then. His aid, his kindness. There was a dull flicker of surprise that he remembered me.

A gentle chuckle. "Couldn't forget a name like that. I thought I'd recognized you, but I didn't place it until now." His features creased in a frown. "... You said – your mother was in Kvatch. But you have family in Bravil, as well?"

I turned away. He sighed softly, pursing his lips. "I apologize. I hadn't meant to stir up memories. You've been through much."

I almost laughed. _You have no idea._

"I hope you will find peace in Bravil, Miss Dust." And he left me in silence then, to curl up in a bedroll and stare into the fire, not hearing the crackle or hiss but only her whisper.

_Come to me._

The rain that had begun our journey ended it, too. By the time we arrived at the gates of Bravil we were sodden, the horses chafed from saddles against wet hide, our bodies aching and exhausted from the cold. And even then, even with his duty done, Phillida stayed with me. Determined not to leave me until we'd found my Family and I was left safely in their care. Wandering around the city while I wondered how to tell him that the Family I'd spoken of met only underground.

I wasn't seeking Lucien, then. But he found me regardless.

"Dust." I barely lifted my head at the hoarse, familiar voice. An arm around me then, pulling me close. Not comforting, not really. Possessive. But I took it, regardless, let my own strength sap and let him hold my weight. His voice tightened further as he spoke not to me, but behind me.

"I take it you brought her here safely." His voice was silky smooth and polite, but tightly knit, not a syllable unpracticed. "I must thank you, guardsmen."

"Only doing our duty." Phillida nodded, seeming relieved and satisfied with my having met someone who recognized me. "You are family of hers, then? We found her outside of Kvatch. She doesn't seem to remember how she got there."

"We were separated, in the confusion. We had agreed previously to meet here." I was surprised by the brief tenderness of his hand on my head, fingers running through my hair, but surprise quickly melted into acceptance. Any shred of comfort, I'd accept. Any kindness, and anything to keep me thinking of what had happened. Of the tower and the hook and _no, no no no._ I forced myself to listen to their conversation, fleeting as it was, before it turned back to me.

"… and perhaps, sometime, I might see you in Leyawain." A fond, almost fatherly smile and Adamus patted my shoulder before turning to face his fellow guard. "The Nine protect you." Lucien's grip on me tightened. Only when they left did he relax, giving a low hiss before taking my chin, making me meet his eyes.

"Dust…"

"I couldn't find you." My voice sounded childish in my ears, lost and blunt. "I had to stay. Until they could take me here. I – I heard, all this time, I've hear Her…"

"I know."

And he held me tighter still.

He had a room at the local Inn, as did other members of the Black Hand, of his Family. I recognized a few, but it felt like only a distant flicker of memory, years rather than weeks ago.

"The last of us should arrive tomorrow. Then, we will go to Her." His voice strangely gentle in giving me the choice. "Will you come with us?"

_Come to me,_ said the voice in my head. Soft, cool, motherly.

Mother, maman, _mum._

"No."

A brow cast upwards, but he didn't protest. He sent me upstairs, to the room he'd taken, and told me what I didn't want to hear. That the next day they would have a ceremony – the new Listener inducted, the former honored and laid to rest. In the silence of his room where others gathered to speak as I lay playing at sleep, I heard them talk of it. Talk of her in hushed whispers.

I didn't wait for the next day. I couldn't.

Alone, without so much as a torch to light the way, I went to visit my grandmother in her tomb.


	45. Chapter Forty-Five

It was storming, when I left the Inn. Not the gentle, rejuvenating rain that had met Kvatch in the days before but crashing and torrential. The way opened for me as naturally as though I were the Listener myself, the statue twisting, the hidden passage sliding open with a weary groan of stone on stone. I didn't need light or a torch, even as night fell on Bravil – my feet knew the way, whether I wanted them to or not.

My heart clenched on itself, twisting and throbbing. I wanted to turn back. I wanted to scream.

I wanted my _mother._

She waited for me there, hovering and silver-sheened, small yet utterly dominating the tomb. A graceful smile curved her ghostly features, voice echoing now on rock as it had in my head.

"Grand-daughter. I'm glad you have come, if saddened by the circumstance."

"I am not your grand-daughter. I will _never_ be your family." I spoke aloud, stunning myself at the rawness of my voice, the venom behind it. Spitting anger towards this unknowable, ancient woman, who could have ended the pound of my heart with a thought.

"You took her from me."

"Oh, child. It was the Prince of Change that took her, not I. Even I could not have foreseen the arrival of Dagon upon this realm, the destruction it would bring."

Bellamont had been right. _Something has changed_, he'd said. Even she couldn't have known about this. Did the Night Mother have plans for her, interrupted by the Prince's attack? Perhaps a long, bloody career, leading them all. Happy here, with her Family.

I shook my head. I felt weighted, all of my being – blood, flesh, soul – being pulled towards the ground. "No." I whispered now, hoarse like I was still choking on the ashes of Oblivion. "You took her a long, long time ago, didn't you?"

A soft laugh in her throat. Her eyes lidded, silence seeming to agree with me before she spoke again. "You are far from the only one who has lost a mother, are you not?" She moved closer, taking my hand in hers, running a finger along the burned imprint of the soul gem, there. I shuddered at her touch – cool, not cold like death, but cool and dry like a hand on a fevered brow. "The sacrifice a mother might make, for the sake of her child, for love…"

I bit my tongue until I tasted copper, wanting to pull away, unable to move. My throat was tight and dry as the tomb itself, jaw trembling, eyes pricking from the birth of tears. Above us, rain pounded on stone, a constant thrum. I couldn't think. "I don't understand."

"How could you? My gift to you was burned to ash in Oblivion, and thus the lesson. In time, Bellamont would have shown you what it had brought him." She chuckled once more, giving my hand a squeeze. The burn throbbed. "Heartbreak, madness, death. You would have grown stronger, learned from his mistakes and walked the path you so fear. You fear blood, but it _must_ spill. A mother does all she can for her children, but sacrifices must be made. As I made my sacrifices, long before any of my children that live now drew breath."

_I don't understand. I don'__t understand._ Nothing made sense, nothing in these past days of cold and heat and ash and gravedust, nothing made sense about my mother not being here beside me, that these hands holding mine weren't hers. A sob escaped me, wrenched out from my throat.

"Would you like to see her?"

My head snapped up. See her - ? But she was – no, no, I couldn't think of that word, couldn't give it form, give it reality. If I could see her, she still lived. Some part of her remained, some part…

"Yes. _Yes.__" _I inhaled, sharp as a dagger. "Please."

There was a flicker of movement at the Night Mother's side – a figure forming, kneeling, slowly standing. Garbed in black – no, not black, in shadow, fathomlessly deep. She stood and met my eyes, her own dark, but warm.

"_Mon chou."_

"_Maman."_

I spoke without realizing, stepping forward, falling into her. Grasping at nothing, but able to see her. My arms passed through and I stumbled, falling to my knees then hugging myself tight. A whisper and they both faced me, gazing down.

She was here. She was _here,_ but I couldn't touch her, but she was _here._

I'd been so angry at her, last we'd spoken. Remembering that I couldn't accept only some of what she was, that I had to take her whole or not at all, and pushing her away. Now – now, murderer or no, Listener or no, I would have taken her, I would have given _anything_ to take back what I'd said then.

"Your untimely death at the hand of Dagon's forces is unfortunate, my daughter." The Night Mother moved a ghostly hand to my mother's cheek. "There was so much more I had wished to show you, to teach you. So many dark secrets I had hoped to whisper into your ear."

Mother stood straighter, shoulders low, head high in pride. "I am honoured to have been your servant in life, Unholy Matron."

"I know, my dear. And you will serve on, even now."

I dared to look up.

I wish I hadn't.

It was my mother's face, yes – pale and elegant, eyes dark, near expressionless. But there was something under it, as though she as just wearing a mask. Flickering through – catches of dark, mangled skin, of vibrant red eyes, of a face contorted by a screaming maw.

"A wraith – imbued with powers I shall give you, sweet daughter, you shall serve. You shall exact the Wrath of Sithis upon those who would dishonor His name, upon those who would offend me."

She looked so in awe, so proud. Did I look the same, when my mother praised me? "Night Mother, you honour me beyond all measure."

"And you shall begin your work…" I felt a cool hand on the back of my head from where I knelt. "Here."

Everything went silent, silent as death. I couldn't breathe. Finally, mother's voice broke the silence. For once, hesitant. For once, afraid.

"… My Matron?"

"I once sacrificed my five children for the glory of Sithis – then, myself. My dagger was still wet with my infant's blood when I buried it in my chest." She raised her head high, looking down on me now. I tried to look away, locked in her gaze, blood frozen. Not even my heart seemed to move. "You have shown loyalty, my daughter. You have given up much for the Dark Brotherhood." Her gaze sharpened. "But would you sacrifice _her_?"

She hesitated – my mother hesitated, mouth open in shock. Her eyes searched mine now, for answers, an excuse.

I had nothing I could give her.

"Show me. Show me you would sacrifice her to me, as I did my own children centuries ago. Show me your loyalty, my daughter."

There was a blade above me now, cruel and gleaming in my mother's hands. She weighed it in her palms, staring at me, waiting.

I didn't know what else to do. I couldn't run or hide or fight. Couldn't plead – wouldn't have, even if I could. Not now. I bowed my head.

Sometimes, I wonder what maman must have felt. Poised there in the Night Mother's tomb, with a blade over my neck. Choosing between the spirit she'd given everything to serve, or between the daughter she'd taken lives to protect.

I heard it, first, slow and silent as though we were moving underwater. The raise of the blade, high in the air. The rush of wind as it came down. A whisper. _Forgive me, darling._

If before all had been frozen, now it melted into a rush of movement. It seemed to happen all at once – a clatter of metal underneath me, a sharp, pained breath. Movement in the corner of my eye as maman stumbled back, hands empty, eyes wide. Stillness from the Night Mother, as she watched.

Was it blood that crept down my neck, or sweat?

My eyes met the blade beneath me, fallen through and dropped as though I hadn't been there at all. After a long moment it seemed to melt away, ghostly, a vision. I blinked away tears, a hand to my throat – still whole.

Soft laughter. "True loyalty. You hesitated – but I know too well what it is to hold the blade to your child. You would have followed in my footsteps, loyally, mercilessly." Praise, satisfaction swelled in the Night Mother's words. My mother stood still now, staring at me, then at her. Slowly her features softened and calmed as she understood, a hand moving over her chest, her heart.

Voices rang in my head, an echo.

_"But you loved Sithis more. You chose."_

_"Yes."_

_"And - and you'll always choose Sithis."_

_"Yes."_

"Come to me, daughter."

They embraced, and she was gone. A wisp of black, vanished, leaving me alone with Her again. I swallowed, over and over. Reassuring myself my throat was intact, even as I wished it weren't.

She'd chosen.

"Remember this, child. Remember the choice she made, in the end, and the mercy I allowed her for your sake." It wasn't possible. It simply wasn't possible for one body, one mind to contain this much_grief_ and rage and pain all at once. I stared at her a long moment as she smiled, as she whispered. "Mercy I gave not even my own children. Remember, grand-daughter."

White-hot. Empty and yet overwhelming, consuming, exploding forth from me.

"_I hate you!"_

I was on my feet like an animal, up and snarling, lashing out in fear and grief. Clawing, striking at nothing at all, screaming and sobbing. Senselessly attacking first the ghostly sheen of the Night Mother, then the walls, then the grave itself. Wailing it, over and over, wrenched from deep inside me. _"I hate you! _Give her back, give her_ back _you heartless_ bitch, I __**hate**__ you_!**"**

She only stood and watched, unharmed by my blows and unmoved by my cries. She let me continue until I'd chipped stone from the walls, until my hands were red from strikes and my throat raw from screaming and howls. Perhaps she would have said more – I don't know. Explained it, assuaged my pain. Made some sense of it all.

I didn't want sense, not then. I didn't want answers. I wanted my _mother._

I fled. I don't remember running from the tomb, or Bravil – only reaching the swamps outside, first running, then trudging, then crawling through the slick mud. Flies stung and bit at my cheeks, reeds sliced against my reaching hands. The rain continued to pound down in sheets, thunder rumbling and groaning above me, seeming to shake the world under my feet. Whatever paths had been in the swamps were long washed away and swallowed by the rising water, the sky and horizon shrouded by a canopy of towering, swaying treetops and vines. I lost my boots in the sucking mud and continued on barefoot, dragging myself forward until I couldn't dredge up the strength.

_It's not real. It's not. She's alive and she loves me and somewhere, somewhere she's just waiting for me to find her so she can choose again, choose -_

At last I collapsed under a tree. Or, what I thought was a tree – a flash of lightning showed stone, a face, but I was too exhausted to try and understand it. It was some shelter, something to cling to when the world around me seemed to drown.

As I sunk into the mud, eyes drifting shut, I thought I heard another voice. A man laughing, low and malicious.

The Night Mother, Bellamont, and now this. Just another in the endless stream of voices in my mind.

I slept.


	46. Chapter Forty-Six

**Author's Note:** I want to give a special thanks to my friend, alcyonejonquil! She has been INSTRUMENTAL in my progress these last months, and I wouldn't be writing nearly as much or as joyfully without her. (Also, this would be riddled with spelling errors.) She's a magnificent author – I urge you to check out her work - and I've grown so much since having the fortune of meeting her. Thank you so much, my friend. ❤

* * *

"If she's dead, can I eat her?"

Voices buzzed above me, almost as repugnant as the flies to my ears and throbbing head. I stretched out my jaw, grimaced at the taste of blood in my mouth. Soaked – I was soaked, exhausted and overfilled like an abandoned rag someone had forgotten to wring out. Whoever spoke, I paid them no mind. I let myself drift back into greyness as they chattered on.

"Don't be silly." A crisp, almost businesslike voice. "It was storming last night. Sheogorath has dropped a new sister into our lap. Or as a sacrifice. But we've enough limbs, haven't we?"

Sacrifice? Something about the word made my throat contract in a tight swallow, made my stomach curdle. I kept my eyes squeezed shut. It hit me then, that I was being held – my shoulders and head supported, placed somewhere soft and warm. Another spoke, this one female and lilting, like a melody.

"A sister, Ortis, not a child, not here to sate your tastes reviled." My head was resting in the rhyming woman's lap, her fingers skating along my scalp, running through my mud-encrusted locks. Was I dreaming? Sister. Daughter. _Mother._ Such pain with that word, making me cringe. "The light waits for her – he'll speak, if she has sight-beyond-sight. We need an offering – do we have a leek?"

"She'll have to do. We don't have any leeks, or soul gems, or fur or wagging tails." A rougher voice. Through my haze of confusion, I wondered if it was Tar-Meena. "If I'd been a better dog, I could have helped. But not today."

"She's got bugs!" A delighted squeal, childlike despite coming from another man. "Little, buzzing, _delicious_ bugs!" Bugs. Welts itching, a constant humming all around. Yes, there was a tickle on my bare chest, _why is my chest bare?_ A hand, grubby and fat, landed there with a slap.

I –

At last, my eyes flew open to the surreal scene around me.

A man – the man who must have slapped me to catch a fly, face bright and eyes squeezed shut with glee, was licking his hand clean. Three others surveyed me – an Argonian, a Dunmer, a Nord. And my head, yes, my head was in someone's lap, I hadn't dreamed it. A High Elf – she gazed down at my fondly, eyes lidded, long fingers tracing along my cheek.

"Yes, yes. Open your eyes and see the light, so bright, so frightful and mighty. He brought you here, little sister, in the night and lightning."

I tried to speak, to protest. None of this made sense, but the words – _sacrifice, sister,_ were enough to rile me. I moved to sit up, head swimming in dizzying circles. My eyes moved down the rest of me – yes, I was filthy, like the traitor had once said, muddied and welted and _naked –_

Finally, reality caught up with me. I squeaked and sat up properly in a jerk of movement, bringing my knees to my chest, hugging myself tight. My words left me in a high-pitched squeal, a single breath. _"Wherearemyclothes!?"_

"We'll give them back when you don't need them!" The Dunmer spoke merrily, holding clothes, holding _my clothes_ to his chest. "Speak to my Lord, first. Or don't! But he doesn't like being ignored, little sister. At least, you might be a little sister. He's always adopting stray children, our Sheogorath."

My mouth was dry, eyes wide. "Sheogorath?" My gaze moved again, this time to the statue that had sheltered me from the storm the night before. A bearded man with a cane, grinning ear to ear, dressed in finery befitting any nobleman, any prince.

Oh, _no._

"Come along, everyone!" He clapped his hands and the others fell into line behind him like obedient ducklings. "Give them some privacy, for now. We'll see what the Madgod has to say about her."

"If He doesn't like her, could He turn her into a cat? I miss chasing cats."

Mercifully their voices faded into the swamps, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the orchestra of crickets and frogs. A grove – one of relatively few dry spots in the muck of this place. Air thick with cool moisture, humming with life, only cracks of light able to reach in through the canopy above. Rain still fell, dripping and glistening down vines and leaves, and distantly I heard the crackle of thunder from the ebbing storm. The smells of decay and growth, smoke and –

Smoke?

A stone bowl. An offering bowl, it looked like, near where I'd been laying. Alight with sticks of incense, with smoldering ashes and unburned green fringes of herbs and flowers. A sickly sweet scent with the curls of fumes rising up, fumes I'd been inhaling for gods knew how long. No wonder I hadn't stirred when they'd undressed me, no wonder the world seemed so bright and spinning -

I took several deep, shuddering breaths, trying to steady myself. _Nothing _seemed steady here, not even the ground under my feet, slick and molding around me. How had I ended up here?

I had run. Run from Bravil, from – no, I didn't dare think of that. But sensations came, even if I refused to name them. Hollow, starkly painful grief, fire and ash, then cold and gravedust and betrayal.

_She chose._

_She's gone. _That was the moment it truly sunk in, hollow in my chest, thudding in my ears. The truth of it. Reality, sharp and cruel in this place so surreal.

_Maman is gone._

I wanted to cry again, but soaked as I'd been, I was empty of tears. I stayed huddled under the statue – the shrine, then, to the Daedric Prince Sheogorath. I must have run here in the storm, in my confusion, taken shelter here.

_Maman is gone._

And now…

Now, I was lost. I'd pushed her away, rejected her the last I'd seen her because I couldn't accept what she was. And in the Deadlands, I'd hesitated. I'd been fearful and selfish, and if I'd been faster, I _saw_ her, I saw her alive and I saw her _die_ and –

And now she was gone, and I couldn't even will myself to stand out of the mud.

_Pointless, isn't it?_ Where I couldn't cry I let a laugh tremble out. _They'll find me, if they still want me. I'll serve, whether I want to or not. I'll serve or die, like her. They'll find me and drag me back to it all, the blood and black and dark..._

"Well, that's rather up t'_you_, isn't it, lass?"

A shriek left me. I hugged my naked form tighter still, eyes doubling, staring around myself. There it was again – the voice I'd heard last night, the man who'd laughed. "… Hello?"

A roar. "Above ye, lass!"

Frenzied with fear I stood, still hugging myself, staring above me to see nothing but the laughing face of the statue.

It couldn't be…? No, I wasn't mad. _No._

"Wait – below ye!" The voice turned jovial, then became a sinister whisper. I gasped at the sensation of touch on my shoulders, of something moving _through_ my chest, my heart. "No, no. _Inside_ ye. That's what they say of me, little dust-speck. I'm already inside you – ye've already lost."

My jaw shook. The whisper of movement, delicate like a breeze, passed through me to hover around my face, as though someone were holding my cheeks.

"But let's play, anyway."

I squeezed myself tighter, willing away the sensations, the sounds. No, no, I was _not _mad, I'd never been mad. I was – I was drugged, the herbs in the bowl, that heady smoke. I was exhausted, dehydrated and grieving and _yes_, I'd had voices in my head, but I wasn't _mad._

Was I?

"After all, even _I'm_ not so cruel to me children as her." Dark, pleased cackling. "I'm _merciful,_ lass. That's another thing they say! About madness, 'o course. A bitter mercy, but mercy still. Who're _they,_ do ye think? Them who write the books about me?" His voice grew dark, a sudden growl. "They know too much. All of them, too much, make books out of their _skin_…"

He babbled on, and I lost myself for a moment in memory. She'd called her loyal. She'd called her merciless.

"Ye've always had a spark of me in ye, itty-bitty speck 'o dust. Many do – I've got me fingers in a_ lot_ of pies." More laughter, almost childish in its glee. "Ye were never made for her world, all blood and steel and shadows. Predictable. Eternal. _Boring!_ No, lass, I know what ye need. Ye've more colour to ye."

Colour. Only now did I see how it surrounded me, enveloped me. Verdant shades of green, pulses of yellow light from glowing bugs, splashes of colour from flowers. Even Redworts – the main ingredient for my aphrodisiac.

That seemed so far away, now.

I plucked one, playing with the petals, letting them stain my hands. Not the dark red of blood but something brighter, hearty and warm. So rich, so vivid, filling me with sensations. The warmth of a cheery fire, of spices and apples, of red lips and heated kisses, _life_. So different from the crimson I'd seen – on Lucien's face or on my own hands, in the fires of Oblivion and on the smeared hook through maman's chest…

"Y'see!? The prettiest shades, the brightest hues! Under_ my _command, not hers, the best reds. Not even Sanguine gets_ those_ reds." He sounded smug, an unseen hand moving to pat my head. A strange comfort, in that touch. "I think ye'll be a fun little toy, for a time. And wouldn't it get the Night Mother's knickers in a _twist,_ if I took ye?"

_She's gone. She's gone, and it's my fault._ It hit me like the impact of a wave, leaving me breathless, clinging to this new voice in my head if only not to drown. I nodded slowly, rocking where I stood.

Mum was dead, and I hadn't saved her.

She'd _chosen._

_I've already lost._

_So what does it matter, if I let go? _I felt it slipping, my tenuous grip on control vanishing like those curls of white smoke into the canopy_. If I go mad, what difference does it make? It would be so much easier._

No blood or death or mother at all, just life. Out here in the colours and lush green, the constant hum of life from insects and swimming fish and creatures creeping just out of sight, with cultists naked and mad. And better to choose this path myself than be forced on it. Better to close my eyes and ears and give in then to accept the reality that would break me, like choosing to dive in instead of being pushed.

I heard laughter again, high and sharp, scaring away frogs and bugs, calling back the other cultists who gathered around. Warmth from tears in my face, cheeks aching from the wideness of my grin.

It was some time before I realized the laughter was mine.

Did I let go because I had broken, or did I break because I'd let go?

They had cheered around me, when they'd returned. Let me dress again, though even that little act of humanity, of decency seemed pointless now. Why bother? Why when this grief had shattered me should I pretend I was whole? Exhausted as I was, entranced by those toxic fumes, I couldn't hold onto a single reason to fight it.

No. So much easier, so much less painful to give in to the attentions and rituals of my 'new family.' To help them gather herbs for the fire, smoke billowing, to dance without rhythm or music as they did and scream whenever it welled up in me, sob whenever I needed to. Like a child, like an animal, like a madman.

And moreso still as in time – time seeming strange and unimportant here – those herbs in the fire sunk deeper into me. I no longer saw maman dangling or the blade in her hands above me when I closed my eyes. Instead, those visions warped into strange, incomprehensible smears, colours I never knew I could see.

I played, I sang, I wept with them. And when they put hands on me, I didn't pull away. Anything not to think, a whisper in my head reminding me I did it too much, that some things were better acted on.

_Hah._

Time passed strange there under the shelter of the shrine and the Madgod's watching eyes, in the arms of my new 'family.' _How many have I had? _The thought came fleeting, immediately dismissed as a hand slid down my smooth, bare back again, leaving me moaning.

"Mmm." I rolled my shoulders against the touch, near purring, hazy-eyed. The Altmer woman was rubbing something into my back, something cool and soothing and _wonderful._ Her touch was firm against my aching shoulders and muscles, coaxing the stinging welts and little aches from days of travel and sleeping in the dirt into silence. "What is that?"

"Different things." Once more the Dunmer – the priest and leader of their little group, I'd come to learn – spoke crisply. "Primarily mud. Very _clean_ mud, mind you, sanctified by the Madgod." Laughter behind me from the others, busily paying mind to their unique forms of insanity. The Breton tried to catch the humming swarm that came and went, Beewol the Argonian crawled on all fours and howled to try and be the best dog she could be. It was all so stupid and foolish and _perfect._

What did it matter if they did these stupid things? Why _not _succumb?

I yawned and stretched lazily to examine the offering bowl between us all, casting an uncomfortable heat and a thick white smoke, driving bugs away. Sickly sweet and heavy like mold the scent rose from the bowl as our offerings burned to nothing. Not long ago, I could have named every hallucinogenic fungus and flower in it. Now I no longer cared.

A blink as it hit me, with vague surprise. "I don't know your names."

As always the Dunmer spoke first, pointing to the less cognizant of our little group. "Our pet dog is Beewol. Don't try to take her for walks, she'll just run away and come back as a lizard. The Breton is Gregory, and Ortis has gone off to find some children, I'm sure." He tilted his head, eyes roving up and down my half bared body. I'd long since forgotten about modesty, stopped caring. "And _I_ am Ferul."

I giggled, then lost myself in laughter and hiccups. Whatever was in the stone bowl, the smoke had me bursting into gleeful cackling at the slightest thing. It felt so _good_ to laugh, so different from all the tears before. I never wanted to stop, except to put my lips to other uses. I arched up to kiss the jaw of the Altmer holding me, making her sigh. "And what shall I call you?"

"You shall call me Feral too, for a beast I wish I was, I do." She crooned into my ear, hands moving now from my back to my chest to push the front of my robe away, sliding down the planes of my stomach and leaving a trail of muddy handprints. Down my belly, my sides to my hips, sending a warm shudder through me. Muddy handprints, bloody handprints – the first I'd take happily over the other. She laughed in her throat as I shivered, moving to press her lips against my neck and leaving a hot, wet mark there. "I'll call you sweet, for your lips, soft and loving for your hips."

Soft was something new, wasn't it? Something so strong here, the ground, the touch on me, the sounds of croaking frogs and humming bugs. I lost myself to laughter again, then rolled and turned to press her down to the ground, hovering above her.

"Soft." More giggles, and our lips met. I whispered against hers. "I _like_ soft."

"The bugs!" Indignant the Breton marched over, hands on his hips, shrieking. "I need bugs! But there_ are_ none! Your smoke scares them away, away from my mouth! I'm going to starve, and then the bugs will eat _me_, and that will _never_ do! We need bugs. Bugs, covered in honey." He licked his lips.

"My fellow dogs shall bring some!" Beewol circled once more on her hands and knees, fur hat askew on her head. "If I howl loud enough, we shall have honey enough to last us centuries. Do dogs eat honey? I hope so. I like honey."

Ferul scratched his chin, head tilted. "I would prefer some fish. They're thickly swarmed in the river, making love and laying eggs."

I burst into giggles again, shrieking in delight and throwing my feet in the air. "Fish don't make _love_!" But there was a rumble in my stomach, too. I staggered to my feet, standing tall despite my shaky grasp on where the ground might have been. "I'll go. I can catch a fish."

"In you they'll lay eggs because you are warm, and when you return you shall birth a swarm." The Altmer tickled at my legs when I rose, grinning in a mirror of my own. "We'll have a fish family and raise our brood, if Ortis doesn't make them all his food."

"Maybe. Wish me luck!" I gave a deep bow for no reason at all, then made my slip-footed way to the river. It was overflowing from the storm, rushing and mad with white-frothed waves, beckoning.

I knew better. I_ knew_ better, somewhere inside me, that the current would take me and I'd be dashed against the rocks, drown. But what did it matter? I might as well have fun, if I was to die anyway. Better here like this, at my own drug-addled will, than under the hands of no, _no_, I wouldn't think of that, I wouldn't think of that…

I'd catch a fish.

I'd managed to wade in to my knees, fighting the waves before I lost my grip on the stones beneath my feet and fell. Splashing, laughing into the river, up and down and inside out, it felt like, dragged along in the roaring water. The swells came up and over my head, again and again, leaving me choking and sputtering. I laughed between gasps of air.

Yes, I'd catch a fish, then I'd roast it with my new family over the little fire. Inhaling whatever wonderful things in the smoke made me feel so careless, so free before reality could grab hold of me once more and drag me back. I was so sure of it, even as the river sucked me down deeper with each wave, as I inhaled water instead of air.

I was drowning, but as long as I was free I would have happily let the water take me. Anything but a return to memory, to thinking beyond this very moment. The water rose over my head, sucked down on my robes, and even when my lungs burned I remained beneath.

I awoke hours later on the riverbed to kisses. Frantic kisses on my cold face, whimpers and warmth. _Wet_ kisses, making me wrinkle my nose and sputter, turning my head away. They stopped but the whimpering continued, a heavy paw sitting on my chest.

A paw?

I forced my eyes open, coughing up mouthfuls of water, my vision blurred. Above me – a long, dark face, red eyes. A split moment of terror as I thought of wraiths, of mother. Then, no – of Shadowmere, the same strange eyes, but as my sight cleared I understood even less.

A _dog?_

With a squeak I scrabbled away, fingers sinking into the muddy grass, but he only followed me along at a trot. He snuffled my face, then sat patiently as I roused myself, spitting out still more filthy water and inhaling lungfuls of thick air. Whatever strange feelings the smoke filled me with had vanished while I was unconscious. I felt cold, empty, raw and split open to receive the memories I'd been trying so hard to push away.

I couldn't run from it, hide from it, drown myself to avoid it. Mother was dead. A wraith, a death she'd chosen happily.

She would have chosen death for me, too.

My gaze rose to the mutt, staring at me impassively. Yes – little wonder I'd mistaken him for Shadowmere. The same void-black fur, the same red eyes. A questioning sound and he tilted his head, one pointed ear raised. He was soaked, fur beaded with water. He'd saved me. This creature of the Night Mother, of the – _bitch _that took my mother away, it had _saved_ me.

I snarled and threw a fistful of mud.

"Get away from me." He didn't move, eyes inquisitive. "I don't _want_ you here. I don't need you." The second fistful landed to splat against the ground near his paws, but he didn't flinch. I was more bestial than him, getting to my feet, growling.

"I didn't ask for this – _any_ of this. I didn't ask for her to be one of them, I didn't ask to be a part of them, I didn't ask to be saved. I _wanted_ to drown. You hear me, mutt!?" I kicked the mud towards him and still he watched, head tilted, nub of a tail wagging. "I _wanted_ to die. I won't go back to them – you can't make me. I _won__'t._"

At last he moved to stand. Massive, larger than a grown wolf to my side. He rubbed against me, whining, affectionate. The hound followed me no matter how I railed against him, leaving massive pawprints beside my footprints in the mud. I stopped short, glaring at him even as he stared happily back. He wasn't ominous like Shadowmere, but…

It wasn't right, that something so close to hellspawn should look at me so sweetly.

I had wanted a dog as a girl – what child didn't? But maman, laughing, said I made enough of a mess of things on my own. Her voice, an echo in my head from the night in Fort Farragut what felt so long ago.

_Manifestations of the void itself. Tools, as guardians, given when one of us who has passed on wishes to give tribute to another who still lives._

I whispered. "Did she send you?"

He crooned and rubbed up against my side again, almost knocking me over with his weight, begging for attention. At last I relented, sliding my hand along his smooth, muscular flank. I didn't know what that meant, if that confirmed it or not, but it didn't seem to matter, anyway.

Little made sense, even less now than things had these past few days. I searched for words.

"… I was supposed to catch a fish."

An affirmative bark and he ran, bounding off past the puddles and mud, into the shadowed canopy beyond. "Hey!" I scowled and ran after him, slipping and sliding with each step. "You – mutt! Get _back _here!" I was utterly turned around now, the thick canopy and rain-soaked landscape ensuring I couldn't find my way anywhere without him. As much as I hated it, I needed him. "Get – "

He returned moments later, happy barking muffled, trotting along to greet me. A huge, silvery fish wriggled in his maw.

What could I do but laugh?


	47. Chapter Forty-Seven

The mutt brought Lucien to me, not long after.

I didn't join them again at the shrine in their revelry, not properly. I wore clothes again, spoke sensibly again. Piece by piece, I let fragments of memory enter me again to build a picture of what had happened. But even as I grieved, part of me felt – _alive._ Reinvigorated and laughing at the stupidity of it all, of how things could go so wrong, so quickly. Of my stupid luck, of all I'd seen, that I somehow still drew breath at all.

And for now, I enjoyed their world, the world this little family had shown me. I let myself see it all while I could – the colours of it all, the music they made with laughter and screams and moans, so different from the silence I knew before. I watched the rituals and practices of the cultists, fascinated. I kept well away from the fumes of the offering bowl now, didn't dance or sing, but I watched. Not quite an outsider, but no longer one of them, either.

It seemed that's how I always was, with any family. Not one of, not apart.

"There is a darkness around you, at the edges creeping, seeping in."

I startled out of my thoughts, glancing up to the Altmer woman who'd spoken. 'Feral', she'd called herself. Soft, head tilted, eyes lidded as she sat cross-legged beside me.

A darkness. "… Yes."

"You fear it, tears shed from those blood-binds tight. But trust that you have the sight-beyond-sight."

I frowned at her, remembering vaguely what she'd said before. _He'll speak, if she has the sight-beyond-sight._ And so He had.

Part of me wanted to dismiss it as a mad fever dream, spurred by grief and exhaustion and the herbs they burned. And yet…

Blood-binds tight. I squeezed my eyes shut and shook my head.

"… Yes, but I don't understand."

"You will, little sister, in time by-and-by. A brightness, a light sighs in you, warms you. Your hands are red, but never let it die." She looked at me plaintively now. Before I'd felt her only as warmth and softness and curves in my hands, only now really seeing her. An older elf, lines at the corners of her eyes and lips, a frailty to her voice as she took my hands and squeezed.

Had she always been like this, mad and rhyming? Had she come here willingly, or been driven like I had and simply wound up here, escaping the pain of the world outside this grove?

"You carry a spark. Hold it close, tend it well, let it swell. You must be your own light in the dark." A tilt of her head. "You will leave us soon, but remember this. Remember the light and the bliss."

A tingle down my back at her gentle whisper, at the words I wasn't even sure I really grasped. "Thank you."

A kiss on my brow and she stood, returning to her little rock at the base of the shrine, crowded with candles that she cradled and stared into for hours. And for my part…

She was right, at least in one way I could understand. I would leave them soon. I couldn't stay here. Part of me wanted to, even as more sensible thought took over. But I couldn't. Living out here in the swamp with nothing but the clothes on my back, it would be –

Well. _Mad._

Of course, I didn't really want to go _back,_ either. Not to serve the one who took my mother, not as a prisoner, even knowing there was no other way. I was bound.

_I'll deal with it. I'll deal with it when the time comes._

But for now I waited, and listened. Through the afternoon into an early dusk, frogs croaking, reeds whispering in a gentle breeze under a thick grey sky.

They were praying now, all in their own strange ways, yet united in their intonations. Ferul stood before the shrine, arms spread wide.

"Blessed are the Madmen, for they hold the keys to secret knowledge."

Secret knowledge. Hard to understand what knowledge could be found in their ravings, but maybe that wasn't the point. It wasn't about what they said, but _why_ they said it. In pursuit of freedom or to flee pain, questing for purpose or identity. Scrying in vomit for truth, howling at the sky just to feel a sense of self. Mad, mad,_ mad,_ and yet it made sense in the strangest of ways.

"Blessed are the addicts, may they quench the thirst that never ebbs."

I knew of addiction, of course. I was an alchemist – such substances were part of my craft. But to hear of them as blessed offered a new, strange perspective. Hadn't I lost myself to the smoke, too? It had been so easy, to let my fears and grief float away with it.

I could name the plants now, even as I no longer inhaled them; the opiates of poppies, the psilocybin mushrooms, sweetness from a touch of moonsugar. I must have been beyond all sense from it – I'd nearly drowned myself, after all.

I sat cross-legged and ate my meal. We dined on fish again, now that I had my four-legged fisherman for help. He'd vanished for most of the past day. I suspected I knew where he was, what he went to do. There seemed little point in fighting it.

"Blessed are the murderous, for they have found beauty in the grotesque."

Those words almost seemed to summon them, breaking through the thick undergrowth and reeds of the swamp. Trudging footsteps through sucking mud, the trot of paws. I stared from under my bangs as they emerged, and continued to pick at the fish.

I must have been a sight – barefoot and filthy, eating with my hands off my lap, glowering like a child as the others continued their prayer. Lucien cast a brow as he sheathed his sword, leaves cut away in his path.

"Well." He held his words on his tongue for a moment. "I see you've found new friends."

I scowled even as the mutt bounded to my side, tongue lolling, moving to sit beside me. I picked out one of the bones from my meal and threw it, fruitlessly, at Lucien. It flew by his head.

"_Go away."_

Laughter, deep in his throat. "You wound me, pet."

I glared, jaw set. "I don't want the mutt, and I don't want you, or your family. Go away."

"And what _do_ you want?" He surveyed me for a moment, questioning. "Do _you_ even know?"

The Argonian ran in circles around the mutt, in an attempt to sniff his backside. Ortis ate fish eggs by the handful and Gregory smeared himself in waste to try and attract more flies. Lucien's nose wrinkled as he looked them over, his gaze turning sharply back on to me.

I threw another. It flew true but he was faster, tilting his head to avoid it. I turned my gaze to avoid his when he tried to meet them, maybe to _tell_ me what I wanted. That damned sight of his, those eyes he was gifted.

He was given gifts from her. I lost_ everything_ to her.

"I won't go with you."

"No? You'd prefer to stay _here?_" He stepped closer to me. I remained seated, jaw clenched as the hound returned to my side. Lucien gazed at it, eyes lidded.

"He found me, and led me to you. He is akin to Shadowmere, a tool of the void made flesh. To – protect you, I suspect." He arched a brow. "Quite possibly from yourself."

"Or to leash me to you." I spoke softly, bitterly. Did he know what had happened to me, in the tomb? Could he _possibly_ understand?

"Any one of us would have done the same." His tone changed – softer, not quite kind, but no longer reprimanding. "To you, or to any other. There is no loyalty greater than that to Her."

So, he did know. How?

"She has honoured me by naming me Listener."

I threw what remained of the fish at his feet, lashing out, snarling. "_Congratulations._"

"_Dust._ Do you think your new friends would do differently? If their god – " He spoke with disdain, lip curling, "Commanded them to kill you, they would do so without question. They would do so without even the order, if the whim struck."

I winced at the sting of it, the truth. They would, I was sure of that. They were utterly creatures of their whims, of the moment. At least mother had hesitated. Maman - grief and hatred roiled in my gut, and I swallowed hard to hold it back. When I looked up once more Lucien was knelt in front of me, dark gaze capturing mine.

"The hound is a gift from the void, entreated on your mother's behalf." His voice gentle, but leaving no room for argument. I shivered in the damp air of the swamps. "Would you turn away from that?" When I didn't speak he rumbled, taking my chin in his hand. I tried to meet his gaze, to defy him, but I couldn't. I couldn't bear it.

The cultists screamed and sang, half naked and senseless in their ritual. Full of life, as Lucien seemed to embody death.

"_I'm already inside ye. Ye've already lost. But let's play, anyway."_

A spark. The woman said I held a spark. I moved a hand to my chest, hesitating. A spark of what these people reveled in, worshipped. Something there, just as I was linked to the Dark Brotherhood. But this wasn't me, caught awash in another's tide. I wasn't bound to this, like I was to the Brotherhood by my mother's actions. This was more like – an _invitation_.

Perhaps, an escape.

For now I stood. He hadn't said as much yet, but I knew the terms remained, the same I'd made with the first Listener I'd met what felt like a lifetime ago. Serve, or die.

My head cleared, I wasn't ready to die. Not at their hands, and not yet.

I kept my silence and obeyed, following him past the path he'd cut down through the high grasses and reeds. Shadowmere waited patiently, the hound sniffing around her hooves. His arms moved around me to take the reins.

Only weeks ago, I'd taken comfort in that. His arms around me, the solidity of his chest behind my back. He'd kidnapped me, kissed me, bedded me and saved my life. In a way, I did still. Even knowing he…

He would kill me, too, if he were commanded. He would make that choice.

"Where are we going?"

"Leyawiin. I have business there." We began to move, the hound trotting almost as swiftly as his mare alongside us as we made way South. I shivered at the warmth of his breath, the brush of it past my cheek as he bowed his head to murmur.

"You've made the right choice, pet."

I hadn't made _any_ choice, not yet. But for now, I bit my tongue and let him hold the reins.

"Here."

"… Thank you."

After a long day of travel we'd stopped at a little roadside Inn, finally escaping the insects and damp for a dry room, a cozy fire. And more, some dearly needed cleaning up. I was a mess.

I examined myself in the polished bronze mirror for a moment longer. Worn, bruised. Deep bags under my eyes, my hair just beginning to dry after washing out the mud and blood and who knew what else. On my cheek, my chest, the scratches from where the scamp had attacked me had faded into ugly, scabbed scars.

Lucien had handed me a brush. I began to comb through the ragged mess of my hair until curls sprang back into shape, staring a moment longer before turning away.

We hadn't spoken much on the ride further into the swamps, nor since we'd settled in our room. I could only wonder at what he was thinking, those times he'd look off with shoulders tense, jaw shifting side to side. And now that he was the Listener...

What did he hear?

What had _maman_ heard?

What made those whispers so _worthy_ of devotion?

For now he sat on the bed in silence, trenchant features sharper still for the fire shadowing them. Leaning forward, hands cupped, expression distant and intense. Almost the same look he'd had first telling me about the Night Mother in my shop, what felt like so long ago.

He'd filled in the gaps then, helped me understand a world so foreign to me even as my mother called it home. I wanted more now. Some clarification, some reasoning behind every horrible thing that had happened, something to make it all make _sense._

But it all came down to one thing, and I already knew it well.

_Maman is gone._

Half-expecting her to walk in and tsk over the cramped inn room, to brush a hand over my little scratches and shake her head, so angry and so proud I'd tried to save her –

Tried.

_She's gone._

I felt grief. Hollowing, wrenching. I felt guilt – I'd pushed her away, I'd never really gotten to tell her I _loved _her, I'd hesitated trying to save her. And even then, I felt anger. Sickly hot hurt from the choice she'd made in the tomb, from the feel of the Brotherhood's rope around my neck and the Night Mother's eyes on my every move. A glance at the strange hound sleeping by the fire, chest rising and falling, paws giving a little twitch.

A guardian. A watchdog. Love and imprisonment. Just another symbol of the choice she'd made.

But mostly, I was tired. All the harshness dulled by sheer exhaustion as I dragged a hand through my hair, undoing my hard work. Another thing maman would have lovingly scolded me for, ever despairing over my wild curls.

"… You won't let me go either, will you?"

Lucien's eyes drifted to me after a moment, pulled from thought.

"Back to before. The University. Back to my old life before – before all of this."

"No." As factual as the colour of the sky, he spoke. Of course not. Maman hadn't, knowing as the Listener she was bound to the good of the Family over her family. To dismiss a servant, to let a stranger who had heard so much walk away unleashed – unthinkable. "You know that isn't possible."

I'd known he would see it no differently. Still, it hurt. Even knowing I wasn't sure I'd want to go back if I could, not having the _choice_stung caustic.

So cold, how he'd spoken. So distant his eyes. I thought of his arms around me in Oblivion, pulling me back as I reached over that teetering edge. Of being under him in the snow, laughing and shivering with thrills of ice melting down my back and the contrast of his warmth. Of dried blood streaking off his face under my hand at the spring.

It hurt. _Gods,_ it hurt. I'd lost maman to them and even knowing Lucien had never really been mine, could never be mine, seeing him as the Listener now like she had been…

I loved him. I loved him and I hated what he was, just the same as mum. A tangled contrast, threads of feeling coiled in a knotted mess I couldn't begin to make sense of.

"I miss simple."

He cocked a brow.

"I miss – I miss when my biggest problems were funding for the alchemy program and planning lectures." But I couldn't go back. I could never leave the pact I'd made with the Brotherhood, bound as a servant, bound to the Night Mother's will even as I hated Her so bitterly. "I miss being ignorant and small. I miss simple."

"Simple." He gazed at me, just a faint flicker of a smirk on his lips as he scoffed. "Is that why I found you with those simple-minded idiots?"

A despairing laugh. I hung my head, then caught it in my hands, pressing the heels of my palms against my eyes squeezed shut. "… 'Simple' seems sane in comparison. And they…" I faltered, remembering. "… They were kind to me."

Even for that short time, they'd offered a precious escape. A moment of light when everything around me felt like sucking tar, trapping me in…

A darkness, seeping in. _You must be your own light in the dark,_ she'd said. I didn't know what it meant yet, half wanting to deny that voice in the swamps as some fever dream, but…

"We need to talk."

The sharpness of Lucien's voice, the abruptness with which he stood startled me. I shifted on the little chair in the corner. He didn't look at me, not yet. "… What is it?"

"You have developed…" He spoke as though tasting every syllable, hands folded behind his back. "… An unfortunate habit of running away when it suits you. This," and now he turned and his eyes pinned me, moved through me, not quite catching the light. "_Cannot_continue."

I stiffened under his stare, throat tight, searching for words. "I – I didn't…"

"You ran to Kvatch after I _explicitly _told you not to. You ran into the swamps and into the hands of cultists – you're lucky they didn't take your fool head." I sat up straighter now, lips pursed tight and eyes stinging at the lecture. No – the _command_. "I might have been searching for days had your mother not sent – "

"_Don't._ I didn't want the – " I stood now myself, spitting with anger acidic in my throat. The dog groaned and looked up at me with a whimper, eyes big. Unmoved I hissed. "The watchdog, the _leash _– "

"Perhaps you wouldn't _need _a leash if you would – "

"Can you _blame_ me!?" A snarl now, loud in that small room but I didn't give a damn who heard past these thin walls. "After everything that's happened – I never asked for this, I never wanted _any _of this…"

"It isn't about what you want. This is your reality." He moved closer now, towering even as his voice stayed a hiss. A line between lips and nare, teeth gritting. "If you run into danger, time and time again, if you _defy_ the binding you have made – "

"Then _what_?" I snapped back, vicious –

"Then I_cannot_promise I will _stay _my hand!"

Silence. The wall almost seemed to buzz in the aftershock of the blow, his fist slamming in, his roar above me. I froze like a hare, pure fear as as he stared down, breathing heavy.

I'd never known him like this. Angry, yes, but controlled anger. Not this – teeth bared, eyes flashing, loose hair slipping free from the knot to hang in strands. Unleashed, unrestrained. Not like this. The explosion was over as soon as it happened – his shoulders rose, tightened as he took a deep breath. My tears trickled openly now as he spoke, softer, still holding my gaze.

"… My duties have grown tenfold, and so my responsibility. To the Brotherhood, to my Matron. I serve Her above all others. If you continue to defy Her, _us_, to flee from this bond…" Creeping, gut-wrenching hurt, compounded now by how gentle he was as the crook of his finger brushed away a tear from my cheek. "I cannot guarantee your safety. I cannot abandon my duties to protect you, anymore than _she_ could."

They chose. They'd always make that choice and so it was _me_ who had to bend, had to obey.

"I would be forced to punish you, as Listener." So terribly cruel his words but so soft now, hoarse. "And I do _not _want that."

By fighting them, straining against their binds, I'd force his hand. They were trapped as me.

I broke. Collapsing into sobs, and even as I wanted to shove him away and run back into the swamps, back to simple, back to _mad,_ I stayed there in his arms. Wet warmth against his chest where I muffled my cries.

"I pushed her away, I t-told her – the last thing, before she, we _fought,_ we – I don't – "

"You crave freedom." A rumble, his hand resting against the back of my head now. "I see it in you, constantly. We cannot give you that. But she wanted you safe. Content."

"Make the best of it," I whispered.

"… Yes."

I startled with a gasp at coldness against my hand – the hound, up and nosing my palm, whining at me. I pulled away from him as he tilted his head and whimpered, trying with shuddering gasps to catch my breath.

Make the best of it. Anger and grief and guilt and love and hate and – my head spun, throbbed, a pang with every breath.

I was so tired of trying to salvage what I could from my own life.

I was…

_I'm so tired._

Lucien surveyed me for a long moment before exhaling, a low sigh and a nod to the bed. "We should rest. We will leave at dawn."

We shared the small bed. I awoke late, crickets creaking outside and the fire fighting the wet cold burnt down to embers. The warmth of an arm over me, encircling me, the snores of the hound at the foot of the bed, facing the door.

Safe and loved and watched and trapped.

I closed my eyes and pushed the world away just a few hours longer.


	48. Chapter Forty-Eight

"Keep to yourself. Mingle if you must, but don't draw attention."

We stood not far from the gates of Leyawiin, towers and the spires of the chapel barely visible through the fog. Newly dressed – we'd washed up at the little inn on the way, began properly treating our scratches and scars. I felt almost normal, were it not for the constant, empty throb in my chest. Still, it was softened. Near the hubbub of the city, away from shrines and my head filled with no voice but my own, I could almost ignore it.

Lucien cleared his throat, drawing me out of my reverie. "Are you listening?"

"Not really." I dragged a hand over my face. "Lucien, I just want…" Exhaustion broke through, cracking my voice, making me slump. "I just want to go _home."_

"Soon. We won't be here long." He handed me a small purse – I weighed it in my hand, frowning as he continued. "Buy food and supplies for the journey back. We won't be restocking until the Imperial City."

"What about you?"

"I'll be keeping busy, don't worry." A flicker of a smirk, faint. I searched his dark eyes, gnawing my lower lip. Weary – from days of constant travel, from traversing Oblivion and facing the Night Mother again? Or did loss weigh on him, too? Mother had trained him, called him Brother and family. She had cared for him, and him for her.

Even knowing they would have killed each other in a heartbeat, if commanded.

"I will meet you near the road to the upper district, half past midnight, when my business is concluded." His head rose, chin pointed towards the mutt that now sat obediently at my side. "As for _him_…"

He rubbed against my hand, and absent-mindedly I scratched back and forth behind his ears as he crooned. "I'll say his mother was a nix hound, and his father was a _very _brave dog."

A snort. Lucien inclined his head in farewell, then turned and left me to wander the city, to try and pretend I was one of them.

It was painfully easy. Though some gave long, sideways glances to the mutt – I'd stubbornly refused to name him yet – no one approached, all intent on their own business. I wandered aimlessly, taking in the sights, busying myself. I didn't want to head to the inn, not yet. That would mean silence, time alone with my thoughts. Remembering everything, echoes of the night before already trying to creep in.

I wasn't ready to face them again. Not yet.

Besides, it felt good just to listen. The calls of mothers for scurrying children, the rattle of cartwheels on cobblestone, the bickering over prices and hawking of wares in the open market. So very different from Cheydinhal, from the Imperial City – all colourful, tall houses and whispering cypress, canals and grey skies – but so familiar, too.

"Watchit!"

I gasped, barely catching my footing, brought with a crash back into reality by the boy who'd run into my side. He stared up at me for a moment, then gave a wide, toothy grin. His front teeth were missing, smile impish.

A flicker of memory, for a stableboy and a friend from a lifetime ago.

"Oh! Sorry, miss. Thought y'were one of my pals." He shrugged a bag on his shoulder, showing off his wares; neatly rolled copies of the paper. "Yer kind've short for a grown lady. Want a copy of the Black Horse Courier? Latest news on the sack of Kvatch! Only three septims!"

My heart dropped into my stomach.

"No. Thank you, dear, but no." I gave the best smile I could manage. My face felt like paper, crinkling and crumpling into an unnatural shape. My own voice sounded strange in my ears. Somehow, it belonged to a woman older than me.

"Two septims, then? Look, I've gotta get rid of these or m'boss 'll beat me green as his arse. He's a lizard," he added solemnly, as though that was of some great significance.

I balked, half amused, half annoyed by the boy's persistence and rudeness. "He's an _Argonian_, then, and – no. I'm sorry, but no. I'm sure someone else will – "

"One septim! Just _one?__"_

"Just – " I inhaled through my teeth and dug into the purse Lucien had given me. I could spare a few coins, couldn't I? "Here, but I don't need a copy."

His eyes widened as I dropped the coins into his palms. Almost quicker than I could see they were tucked into his pocket, his grin bared again. As he moved, I caught a glimpse of the illustration the paper boasted. A grim scene, charcoal on parchment mimicking the devastation I'd seen myself.

"Yer sure you don't want – "

"_Yes!"_

Suddenly the hound – before complacent and all too happy to trot at my side – was upright, growling and snapping at the boy. His mouth fell open, a little whimper turning into a shriek that followed him down the road as he fled from me.

"Wait!" Guilt made my stomach topple. I reached after him as he ran, to no avail. "He won't – " I growled and turned on the dog, glaring and stamping my foot. "What are you _doing?_ He's just a boy! You can't go around _terrifying_ people, you – "

People were staring at me.

I was talking to a _dog._

I cleared my throat, stood upright, and did my best to walk on as though nothing had happened. As though I wasn't debating inside if perhaps I really, truly had gone entirely mad, that these past days hadn't made my mind snap. I'd heard His voice, yes, He'd told me He was with me but I didn't_ feel_ mad, not now. Exhausted, lost, but not mad.

Then, the mad never _know_ they're mad, do they?

I busied myself once more, drifting shop to shop. Dried rations and journeycakes, for the return trip. Proper bedrolls, the ache in my back and bottom a reminder of what sleeping on a blanket on the ground was like. Minor potions, remedies for little sicknesses and the exhaustion that could end an unwary traveller. I spent longer than I ought at the apothecary, reading labels and naming the ingredients in my head. My reflection warped in the surfaces of glass bottles, thin and stretched here, wide and dappled from an ornate design there as I paced.

Extract of dreugh glands, alkanet root, ground scamp claws, foxglove nectar. I was hit with a sudden longing, a need to return to this world. To lose myself in my work, to escape all of this and retreat back to the tomes and ingredients I knew by aching heart. I wanted to go home, but wasn't sure where home might be.

The glare of the impatient alchemist burning into my back, I paid for my selections and left.

The bookshop, next. It was only midafternoon, and the thought of the empty inn still filled me with dread. Besides, a map would hardly go amiss. I wasn't sure what Lucien had brought with him when he came to fetch me, but most I'd taken to Kvatch would have been lost or looted after –_ whatever_ had happened in Oblivion, to make the portal close. That, or still attached to the horse I'd stolen, claimed by the guard in this time of crisis.

He likely knew the main roads well enough, but I didn't. And if…

The thought of running now was as frightening as it was enticing, and made guilt churn my stomach. If I kept running, I'd force his hand.

_I do not want that_, he'd said. Neither did I. But I at least wanted the _choice_.

The shop was near empty save the shopkeeper and a single woman at the counter, dressed in red finery and slamming a small stack of books down with a smack. I winced at the sound, then at the smell that attacked my nostrils. Like animal waste, but _worse_, as though someone had tried and failed to burn it away. How was it a noblewoman smelled like _that?_

"Useless! Every one of these was _useless!"_

I hung back in the stacks, listening to the exchange. The Orc grunted, shoving the stack back at the woman, who gave an affronted gasp.

"All sales are final."

"But this is ridiculous! _None_of these helped me with – " She stiffened, rouged lips pursing before tossing her head. "Fine. Fine! Keep the damned books _and _the coin, I don't care."

"Good. Get out of my shop, you're stinking it up."

Another indignant gasp and she left, chin held high. I crept up to the counter in her wake, wrinkling my nose from the scent lingering where she'd stood.

"Yeah?" The bookseller glanced back at me, lip curling. "Whaddaya want?"

"A Cyrodiilic map of the roads, please. Not an atlas, just a map." My gaze strayed after I'd given him coin, to the stack of books the woman left behind.

On the cover of the top book, in simplistic black script was the title – _Myths of Sheogorath._

My breath caught in my throat. Though the days at the shrine had seemed like some strange dream, they now returned full-force. Their prayer, the face of the shrine illuminated by lightning, his cackle echoing in my head. _I'm already inside ye. Ye've already lost._

_This – this can't be a coincidence. It can't be._

As he wrapped up the map I plucked the book between my hands, feeling the velvety cover, something resounding within me. I gnawed my lip. "How much is this?"

The Orc made a face. "She had it shipped in special. One hundred, flat." My face must have fallen at the price because he softened, giving a little snort. "But now it stinks like whatever unholiness she's got in that manor of 'ers. I'll give it to you for seventy."

That would clear out what Lucien had given to me, let alone my own meager purse, but I was only too eager to accept. It had to mean something, it _had_ to. And it meant, at the very least, I wouldn't drive myself mad in the silence of the inn room.

… Well. No madder than it seemed I was.

Still, it was something. The mutt had waited patiently for me outside – cowed now, head bent and tail low from my earlier reproach - and we made our way to the Inn. I read as we walked, barely avoiding puddles. I could lose myself, if only for a little while.

_In the earliest of days, in a time when the world was still raw, Sheogorath decided to walk amongst the mortals..._

I read the book over and over, first with the curtains open, then by candlelight as night fell. They really were myths, the sort of things you might read to children before bedtime if they weren't so horrific. Lutes made of a woman's tendons, children born mad in a city of practicality, and the last tale…

"_Sheogorath is already inside each of us. You have already lost."_

An echo in response, darkly amused from my memory_. "But let's play, anyway."_

The Nine Divines had never suited me. My father served Stendarr, the god of mercy loyally, and what good did it ever do him? He was murdered by his wife, and all his hard work was for nothing. Even my given name – Gabriel, 'Stendarr is my might' – I'd left behind long ago. I served the Night Mother out of fear, cowed, not because I had any connection. Hadn't maman said it herself? I was too soft, too full of life for her to have chosen me to train. The voice in my head at the shrine, too – I didn't dare name it as the Madgod, even though I knew inside it was.

"_Ye've more colour to ye_." More than shadow black and blood red. I remembered those feelings at the shrine, even when the hallucinatory smoke had released its grip. Watching the cultists, so delighted and raptured in the moment. Welcoming the gifts of creativity, and the gifts of the deranged.

What kind of alchemist could afford to dismiss creativity? I'd welcomed that gift all my life. I loved music, dancing, inspiration. But of the other…

I didn't – I didn't feel mad. I didn't want to _be_ mad, ranting about flies or dogs, but that freedom I'd felt at the shrine, that sense of a mind opening to possibilities, untethered…

I set it aside, for now. One thing at a time. It was hard enough just to think straight, to sort out what had happened in the past weeks, where to go from here. Whether to be led along on a rope, like the dog. I eyed the hound where he sat, once more keeping vigil at the foot of the bed, watching me with one lazily open eye.

I rose, chair creaking and knees creaking from the time I'd spent hunched over and reading there in the dim light. My eyes stung. A vague scolding from mother when I was a girl, about ruining my eyes. My throat closed tight, a shiver moving down my back.

It was time. Lucien had said to meet him near the road to the Upper district of the city, though why there and this late, I couldn't fathom. But I'd follow, for now, until I could figure out exactly what I was going to do with myself from here. Stay bound, a servant to the Dark Brotherhood, to the spirit I hated?

Stay with Lucien – who I loved, who I resented, who held the leash I so fought?

I needed fresh air.

It was cooler at night, at least, a much-welcomed relief from the oppressive humidity of the day. Crickets chirped noisily, fireflies hovered like tiny lanterns over the canals as I made my way to the meeting place. In the distance I could hear the call of owls, newly awoken to begin their midnight feasting. The water, too, gently lapping in the canals. Altogether, the sounds hummed into one. Peaceful. I almost didn't want the walk to end.

I found an alley by the road between clustered houses and waited. Ten minutes turned to twenty, then a half hour, my impatience growing. At last, soft footsteps, those of a practiced padfoot. I glared over my shoulder to their source, hand on my hip. "It's about time you – "

In a flash of movement, there was a dagger to my throat.

_Not Lucien._ I swallowed back a cry, holding my breath, releasing it in a gasp as I was forced back into the arms of the one behind me. A man, a thief, arm circling my waist to hold me tight, the other keeping the dagger close enough to my throat to prick if I so much as twitched.

"I – I…" I scrabbled desperately for something to appease, terror bubbling up. "I don't have money."

He remained silent, holding me tight, tight enough to hurt. A horrific thought – what if he didn't_ want_ money?

I struggled, and screamed for help.

More footsteps. More footsteps! Someone had _heard_, someone was coming. _Lucien?_ With a grunt he struggled to keep me held as I fought, twisting and spitting like a cat in his grip, trying to bite at his arm. Only when a silhouette came around the corner, taking his attention, did I succeed. A mouthful of burlap and flesh, my mouth tasting of copper, a deep snarl in response.

Suddenly I was on the ground, the impact leaving me dizzy. _He's thrown me._ My gaze rose to the shape now blocking the alleyway, blade drawn. A familiar face, aged and noble, chin raised fearlessly. The retired captain, the man who'd found me on the road outside Kvatch and had brought me to Bravil. Yes – I remembered now, he had been coming here to retire.

To retire. He was _old_. Larger than me, battle-trained, but old enough to be retiring. Could he fight? I had to help, I _had_ to. How? I dragged myself to my knees, the thud of a sheath against my thigh reminding me.

My dirk knife.

I drew it clumsily. The man was shouting now, sword raised in threat.

"By order of the Imperial Guard, drop your weapon, thief!"

It all happened faster than I could see. One of the thief's gloved hands closed around the tip of my blade like he _knew_ it was coming, pulling me helplessly forward with his momentum as he lunged. With the other, he buried his dagger into the man's gut.

A gurgle. The blade was twisted, then drawn free with a spurt. He fell to his knees, gasping, and the thief ran, leaving us collapsed there.

No, no, no, _no._ I dragged myself to the captain, gasping, inhaling a sob. He gurgled on the ground, a pool forming beneath him that in the darkness looked more black than red.

"Hold on, just hold on," I moved my hands to his chest, summoning up my magicka, trying to fight back against what I already knew. The blade had struck true, severing the major artery in his stomach. He would bleed out in short minutes. And a scent – vague and bitter, the flesh around his wound retreating unnaturally fast, his blood thinning and flowing all the quicker. It would leave me unable to draw the flesh together and seal the wound, unable to stop the bleeding that would be his death. It was made for deer, to let the hunter bring it down quickly and mercifully without a long, painful chase.

Poison. One of _my_ poisons.

My heart raced. Had it been sold place to place through a merchant caravan? I had dealt with them once, at my shop. Or had I sold it to the thief myself, to follow him here and now?

I fought it. As hard as I could I willed my magicka to push back against the poison, to allow split flesh to mend, or at least to coagulate the endless gush of blood. Between wracking sobs and gasps for breath, I screamed for help.

By the time help came, it was too late.

They comforted me, told me there was nothing I could have done. Questioned me for what little I could tell about a hooded man during my midnight walk. They gathered up the body, to be taken to the Hall of the Dead where it could be examined before interring. A guard helped me back to the inn, my gloves and sleeves wet with blood, and I retreated to the room we'd rented.

Another life lost because of me. Another life I'd failed to save.

If I had drawn my blade just a moment faster, if I had been just a bit more aware, he would still be alive. He'd been kind to me. He'd found me, helped me here, and I'd _failed_ him and myself.

How could I hope to choose my own destiny, to forge a path for myself if I couldn't even _defend_ myself? If a thief left me screaming for help, putting others to death?

It was _my_ poison.

Maybe it _was_ better if I stayed on the leash. I might do less damage that way.

The door creaked open to show I was no longer alone. Lucien waited, brow arched, then his gaze hardening at the sight of me. He stood from the bed and moved to me, both possessive and comforting at once. "I was delayed at the meeting point and came to see if you were here. You're _bleeding_. What happened?"

"It's not – "I inhaled, trying to calm myself, and broke down into sobs. "It's not my blood."

He listened patiently to my explanation. One arm, then another moved to circle me, and I buried my face against his chest and sobbed. A hand moved into my hair, fingers stroking, slowly soothing me into silence.

I couldn't fight it. I_ hated_ him, everything he stood for. The Brotherhood, the Night Mother, knowing he would slip a knife in my back just as his hand moved to caress it, but I couldn't turn away. Whatever invitation Sheogorath had extended me, whether it meant freedom or not, what did it matter? The idea of pursuing it, chasing my own destiny was a child's dream. This – here in the arms of a man I both hated and needed –_ this_ was reality.

We'd been through so much, together. The weeks in the Sanctuary, the training, the treachery, through hell and back. Holding his hand when he was blinded, him catching me when I leapt through my fears in Oblivion. If the Night Mother hadn't whispered to me, guided me that night, I'd be dead. If Lucien hadn't coaxed me to jump, I'd be dead. If mum hadn't been a Sister, hadn't given me her dagger so long ago, I'd be dead.

I was helpless without a family.

We left that morning to begin the long journey back to Cheydinhal. The hound seemed to sense my sadness when I came for him, whining and rubbing against my legs, licking at my face when I knelt to untie him, solemnly gazing at me with those round, brown-red eyes. More for my own comfort I pat him, running my hands up and down his body before finally submitting and wrapping my arms around him. He tucked his long snout into the crook of my neck, silent and patient.

I hated how much I wanted his comfort. How much his loyalty meant to me. I held him anyway, until Lucien arrived – something he had to collect, he said - and we set off. Astride a horse with a dog at our side, both from the void, sitting with the man who heard the Night Mother's words in his head.

It surrounded me. How did I ever think I could escape it?

We rode on.


	49. Chapter Forty-Nine

I never would have thought the Niben could be beautiful.

The pondscum of Cyrodiil, more sewer than city and more mud than water had become unmarred glass, that night. A perfect reflection of the night sky was cast over the water, stars glittering like they'd fallen into the lake, jewels hidden under the water's surface. What little sound came – the trot of Shadowmere and the dog, the rustle of leaves – seemed to be swallowed by the great silence resting on our shoulders. The air was chill, even the crickets so quiet that the world seemed breathless.

"I want to stop."

Though Lucien said nothing, I could almost hear his brow raise. My voice softened, the horse slowing.

"Just for a minute. Please."

We pulled aside of the road there, in the dewy grass. The mutt whined at my side. I rubbed his head for a moment of comfort – perhaps mine, perhaps his – and made my way to the water's edge. The hair on my neck prickled as Lucien joined me, inhaling the night air. My gaze strayed to him, the shadows cast on his face, the small glint of light in his gaze. I thought of that night at the spring, after the traitor had taken his eyes.

Somehow, he seemed more solemn now than then. Or was it only my perspective of him that had changed?

Lucien drew me out of my thoughts by pulling something from his bag. The air, smelling only of lush grass and stale water before, now carried the faded scent of blood and mint. I stiffened. In his hands lay a long, silken sheaf of fabric, spattered with dried patches of black. He smoothed it between his palms, gaze flickering from it to me and back.

"She never took it back that night, before we fled to the farm." He turned to face the water, and I followed his gaze. "We were on contract here together, once, in Bravil." An exhale through his nares as memory surfaced, drawing him away from the moment. "It ended poorly. The deed was completed, but we were injured."

I listened, unsure why he would tell me this, but only wanting to hear more.

"She told me…" His eyes closed, a rueful smile turning his lips. "That if she were to die here, I should burn her body and scatter the ashes over the Niben, so the Night Mother could watch over her here even then." Something between a laugh and a scoff, head shaking, head tilting to watch the sky above us. "I had always thought the insufferable old hag would be eternal."

Some part of me spat bile in anger. Even now, she held her Family closer than her family. Not to be buried alongside her children or her husband, but _them_. But this was years before I was born, before she met papa.

The person she was before me, and the person she was when she died. More than mother, more than mine.

Her dying wish.

I took the end of the scarf and slid it into my own hands. Lucien didn't protest as I cradled it, inhaled the bittersweetness the scent of it left behind. My chest rose and fell quicker, heaving, pinpricks in my eyes. Then magicka on my lips and tongue, on my fingertips. I slipped out of my shoes and stepped onto the water's surface, the rippling waves kissing my feet as I began to walk.

It was like walking into the void. The water was black as the sky, and it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began. With my spell I could travel it, skimming across like a water spider towards the distance.

I was afraid of them, as a girl. The creepy-crawlies and many-legged, until maman taught me they were just little, silly things, more afraid of me than I of them. I was afraid of so many things. Afraid of shadows she embraced. Afraid of nightmares that she tried to teach me showed truth.

These past few days I'd been unable to hold onto her memory, like a cupful of water in my palms slipping away, but now it was crisp and clear. Dark, knowing eyes that I could never tell whether they were laughing at me or not. A thin, elegant smile, controlled even while genuine. Her hands, slender and pale like mine, the hands of a noblewoman. Brushing my hair or raising a finger to scold, squeezing breath from innocent throats, bringing a blade to my neck.

My toes were numb by now, the shore a distant, jagged line in the distance. I held the scarf to my chest and shuddered, breath escaping me as a sob. Grief was hollow, devouring, raw and bitter, howling anger and weeping sadness all at once. I wanted her to come find me, to scold me for risking a chill, to wipe away my tears. I wanted her back, so badly.

Had she ever been mine? Had I ever truly known her?

The rush of memories was warm, making her absence all the colder. I lost myself in them, imagining her, deep enough that when I heard someone approach I half expected it to be her. Lucien came from behind me, tingling with magicka as I did, placing a hand on my shoulder.

"You're going to freeze out here."

I turned from him, the scarf bundled in my hands. Another spell, what little flicker of fire I knew. It took hold of the edge of the scarf as I unwound it into the breeze, devouring along the silk and consuming it, leaving flakes of burnt cloth and ash that fell into the endless water below.

We stood in silence, almost reverent until my hands were empty and any sparks were swallowed by the yawning blackness under our feet. My tears had dried by the time we reached the shore, though memories lingered. I scoured through them, simultaneously wanting to never forget and to push them away. Searching for signs of her love, or of mistakes, something that could have changed along the way.

Wondering if I could have made her choose her daughter, instead of her mother.

We sat astride once more and moved to leave the shore behind, towards the road and rolling hills that would lead us to the Heartlands. I couldn't be sure over Shadowmere's trot, but I thought I heard Lucien murmur.

"Goodbye, Abelle."

Even with the crown toppled, the Imperial City seemed to have never changed.

We stopped there to rest, and for Lucien to attend to further business. I didn't question it, didn't dare. I didn't want to know. Besides, I welcomed the opportunity to lose myself in a crowd again and escape my thoughts. Even Shadowmere and the dog seemed grateful for a break, though the mutt certainly earned a few stares.

Even as I welcomed the chance for rest from the road, my chest ached. Memories surfaced with nearly every step I took. Strolling in the Arboretum with Bolor's arm around my shoulders, running from shop to shop in delight in the market district, listening to the magnificent music that would ring out from the Temple on Sundas. How many times had my feet circled the White Gold Tower before I was torn away? I didn't dare approach the University.

I didn't need to. In a way, it approached me.

Lucien accompanied me at first, moving along Green Emperor Way late morning. Things were mostly quiet, others working, shopping, already at their destinations for the day. But there were some about, strolling as we did, talking amongst themselves or wandering the grounds of the gravestones dusted with frost.

A strange sound, somehow familiar, caught my attention. Jingling, the song of a delicate headdress. An Argonian approached and my heart leapt into my throat.

"…Tar-Meena?"

"Dusty?" Her eyes widened, voice a rasp before her entire face turned alight and she caught me in her arms, Lucien drawing back with a frown. "Dust – it - By the gods, it_ is_ you. I thought I'd never see you again! Where have you _been?_ You just vanished, no one knew where you'd gone, I've been so _worried_ \- "

"I – " My gaze turned to Lucien as she held me, desperate for some answers. He only raised a brow, leaving me to stammer. "I – after, after everything, with Bolor I, I decided to go. I… I left."

Her orange eyes flickered in confusion. "I read as much, but your letter was so _short,_ so sudden. I had – I thought you'd at least… It's been _months,_ Dust. I was worried_sick_ about you."

"She wanted a fresh start." Lucien stepped in, linking his arm around mine, stopping me in my tracks as I tried to babble some excuse. I blinked at him, lost, and he only smirked back. "Can you blame her, after the – _unfortunate_events with that man? Ah, forgive me." All charm he bowed his head, tied hair falling onto the crisp shoulder of his doublet. "I am Miles Garrus, Dust's husband."

Tar-Meena stared, eyes wide, openly expressing the shock I felt. "Husband?" Her gaze turned on to me. "You _married?_"

"It all happened rather quickly, but then that's the best kind of romance, isn't it, pet?" He glanced at me, smirk remaining, but eyes hard. I flushed and nodded along. "A whirlwind. We courted, then spent the last few weeks on honeymoon in High Rock to visit our families. I'm sure you know how it is, with budding romance. All others seem to be swept aside. This is why we're in the city, so I can catch up on business."

Her expression fell. She said nothing, but I could hear it regardless. I'd let her think I was missing, even dead, when I'd been having the time of my life. I hadn't even bothered to _write._

"Tar-Meena…" I moved to take her hand, but she retracted. I winced, swallowing hard. "I'm so, so sorry. It's all just been moving so _fast_, and…"

She shook her head and gave a small, fragile smile. "It's alright. I understand." Someone – a man in armour, standing by one of the mausoleums – waved her over. "I must return to work. It – It's good, to see you are well."

"Tar-Meena." I blinked back tears as she turned. One of the last remnants of my old life, the life I had tried to build for myself here in the city. One lingering glance and a waning smile was all she gave before leaving us, moving to the man by the grave.

My dear friend. We'd laughed and teased and shared wine, shared little heartbreaks and disappointments, and suddenly – suddenly we were strangers. _Tar-Meena, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry._

The moment I had a chance I dragged Lucien to an alley, snarling. "Why would you _do_ that!?"

He shook his head, chuckling as though amused by a child's unreasonable anger. His mood had shifted, over these past days – more his old self, smirking, taunting. "Would you have preferred I told the truth?"

I tried to picture her reaction. Horror, disbelief, the danger she'd put herself in trying to rescue me. I growled in my throat. "You_ know_ I wouldn't, but you could have at least let me talk to her. I could have…"

"You're a terrible liar, pet. She would have known something was wrong, and pressed you. You would only be putting her in danger, risking letting her know too much."

He was right. I _hated_ that he was right. I swore under my breath and eyed at the people walking by, occasionally glancing to where we argued.

"Besides," He continued casually, drawing closer. "We're supposed to be a loving husband and wife, now. Ought to act the part." His hand moved to rest on the wall behind me, leaning over me. To anyone passing we'd look like a daring couple, stealing a moment of romance in the dark of the alleyway.

He leaned in, and I hissed. "I _hate_ you, you know."

He smirked. "I know."

I didn't turn away from the kiss.

We got a room at the Tiber Septim Hotel, befitting a wealthy merchant and his bride. Luxurious, especially in contrast to the seemingly endless days of travel we'd endured so far. Still, it was difficult to let myself relax and enjoy it. I kept thinking of Tar-Meena, of the disappointment in her eyes.

Cool silk sheets, warm skin, burning kisses were some distraction. I hated him, and that hate made making love all the more intense, my nails dragging down his back, his teeth on my throat. It was so easy to fall into it, to let myself succumb to the moment and wherever he led. Late that night he left me alone to pursue his evening's business.

I didn't want to know, but I was glad he undertook it then.

I dressed silently, as though he might be listening at the door. The Listener, listening. I laughed bitterly under my breath at that, then headed out into the night.

Part of me was still wary. That thief had caught me on a night like this, because I'd been foolish enough to loiter in an alley alone. A man, a _good_ man had died because of me.

But I had to do this, no matter the risks. And perhaps I wanted to prove to myself I could. That I still had a little freedom, and maybe that would be comfort enough. I made my way to the Arcane University, silent and still save a few stray guards patrolling. None of them gave me a second glance. Somehow, I still looked like I belonged.

I knew the way by heart even now, and headed to the Mystic Archives. Tar-Meena's domain, where I'd first met her, where we'd spend laughing evenings together, poring over books and telling stories of our own. Unlocked – if I knew her as well as I thought, she'd still be doing her relentless late-night cleaning, leaving it spotless for apprentices to befoul again in the morning. The brushing of leather on leather, books being stacked away, told me I was right.

"Dust?" She stood abruptly, making her way towards me as though to block me from entering further. Her eyes were sharp in the dim light, only magicked orbs illuminating the room from lamps above us. "What are you doing here?" A pause, and her voice softened. "… Shouldn't you be with your husband?"

"He's not…" I trailed away. Lucien had been right, that telling her the truth would lead to her death. But I needed to offer something, _anything_ to make things right. "He's fine. Snoring, so I couldn't sleep." I managed a smile. "I just – I had to see you. I have to apologize, properly."

She shook her head, the chime of her headdress making my chest ache. Had it only been months ago, I heard that sound so often? "You don't need to do that, Dust. I'm happy for you."

"But I should have written. I should have tried to contact you, to do _something_. To explain." Even through the lie of my departure, it rang true. "After Bolor, after - everything just happened so _fast._"

A low chuckle. She placed a clawed hand on my shoulder and I felt myself soften, melt from relief at her forgiveness. "It's alright, truly. I understand, Dusty. I just – I was worried about you. Now I'm just happy to see you're alright. That you're happy."

I smiled back, hoping the bitterness rising in my throat didn't bleed into my words. If only she knew. "I am. But I miss you, too." I glanced around at the Archives – as eternal as ever, from the time I first stepped in as an apprentice myself. "What have you been working on?"

"I can't discuss it too openly, but I've been kept busy." That low laugh again, bringing pinpricks of happy tears to my eyes. "Researching the Daedra and cracking secret codes, a normal Middas."

The Daedra.

Something must have changed in my expression from how she drew back, the slant of her sloped brow wrinkling. "What is it?"

I shook my head. "Nothing. I just – they were never really my interest before, the Daedra, but – but with what's been happening, I've wondered…" Another white lie, sour on my tongue.

"Ah, since the portals have begun to open? Yes, many students are wanting to know about them, these days. To defend the city if a portal should ever open here, or just out of intrigue. The horrific is always fascinating, after all." She smiled, baring teeth. "Else I wouldn't be in my line of work."

Fascinating. Would she find the people I'd become entangled with fascinating?

"Are all Daedra evil?" I surprised myself by asking aloud, the question childish outside of my mind. Remembering with a wince the hulking Daedroth, the Dremora holding maman –

_No, no, don't go there._ I bit the inside of my cheek and tried to breath, tried to hide my thoughts. Tar-Meena blinked, moving to put away more of the books abandoned on tables as we spoke.

"Not all, no. If you mean Daedra in terms of the creatures – clannfear, scamps, atronachs – they are no more good or evil than a wolf, killing to survive. Or at least, no more good or evil than their conjurer."

I chewed on my lip. "What about the Princes?"

"That's a bit more complicated. No, not all are exclusively bad, but they all represent facets of mortal nature. At least, that is my understanding." She tilted her head, blinking. "Was there a particular prince you wondered about?"

My mouth was dry. "… Sheogorath."

She stopped her work, surprised. "The God of Madness? Why _Him?_"

I struggled to think of an excuse. "… Well, he's also the god of creativity, yes? And creativity is essential to alchemy, I think. Pushing me to try new things, even if they sound impossible."

She laughed and my shoulders slumped with relief. "Yes, that's true. That's what I mean by 'facets', in fact. Madness and foolishness, creativity and genius. Two sides of the same coin." She raised her hand in demonstration, showing the back and the palm. Two sides. "But you don't need to learn about Him to have His gift. You've always had imagination with your potions. Remember the sap you made for attracting butterflies? Or your tea for melancholy."

I remembered my poison, sapping away at flesh and blood to speed along death. Made for mercy, a creative invention for kindhearted hunters. My smile tightened, strained.

"And it seems you can experiment to your heart's content, what with a handsome husband taking care of you." Lighthearted teasing entered her voice. I tried not to cringe, tried to meet her grin with one of my own. "You must have fallen _hard_, it all happening so quickly, hm?"

It had happened quickly, that much was true. I managed a soft laugh. "It… it did."

"I hope he makes you happy, Dust. You deserve that. Better than what happened." A moment of silence between us for our old trio, gone for good now. The teasing note came back with a toothy smirk. "I suppose you won't need to be making aphrodisiacs for funds now, hm? With a wealthy husband, you can experiment as you please. Unless you're planning on children, soon?"

The thought – children, with _Lucien_ \- made me blanch. "No!" I caught myself, shaking my head. "Uh – n-no, not yet."

She laughed again, the rasp accompanied by the tinkling of her headdress. "Just asking, Dusty." A sigh. She slid the last book into place, pausing. "I… I should go and sleep. I may be called upon again tomorrow, for my work. You promise me you'll write?"

I nodded. I could keep that promise – I had to. Surely, Lucien could be convinced it was for the best, if only to keep up appearances. "I _promise,_ Tar-Meena. I'm just sorry I didn't before."

"Well, the best way to learn is from a mistake." She chuckled and gave me a one-armed embrace. Warm and familiar, enough to make my eyes sting. The scent of her plain soap for her robes, old books and spilled ink…

What if I told her? Just told her everything now? I wanted to so badly it _ached,_ if only to have a sympathetic ear. If only to for a moment pretend I could go back to how things were, being true with my closest friend.

I only smiled, bid goodnight and left.

Lucien was still gone when I returned, to my relief. I didn't want to have to explain where I'd been, and it gave me time to think. I skimmed through _Myths of Sheogorath_ again, unable to truly focus on the words.

Two sides of the same coin. Split, like so much of my life, between extremes. Between poor and wealthy, family and prisoner, never quite fitting in. Mother or murderer, killer or lover.

The door opened as he returned, and I slid the book under my pillow. He'd been busy, wherever he'd been – only a few words were exchanged before he'd settled for the night beside me.

It took longer for me to settle. For once he was deep asleep, gentle snores leaving him as his chest rose and fell. That, or he was very good at acting. I watched him for a time, breathing in time with the pattern, the flicker of movement behind his eyelids as he dreamed.

Quiet, eyes closed, he could almost be a normal man. Could almost be a husband.

Maybe I laughed, before I joined him to sleep.


	50. Chapter Fifty

At some point, Cheydinhal had truly become home.

The barest hint of spring greeted us in the mountains with a teasing twirl, a warm breeze carrying the scents of timber and smoke and melting snow to the gates as we stumbled through.

In our absence and now for our return, life moved on. Though the hound got funny looks, no one paid mind beyond him to two bedraggled travelers winding through the muddied cobblestone streets. Wagons churned gritty paths through the brown-and-grey muck, children played with the quickly dissolving snow. Shrieking, giggling. Laundry hung in ropes. Hammering from the smithy echoed.

I thought my world had ended then. And at the Shrine, I felt like I'd escaped the world entirely. But, no – it was still here, still turning, moving on as it always would.

As I had no choice but to do.

I didn't want to go to the Sanctuary. I wanted to go home_, really_ home smelling like dried herbs and pine, with curtains in the breeze and a kettle hissing on the hearth. Still, Lucien led the way and I followed, down into the basement and past the ominous door. A pang for a moment, hearing Her voice in my head. I bit my tongue hard and pushed the memory away.

"Listener."

It was Telaendril who greeted us first – she must have been about to leave, backing away from the door in her dayclothes and giving a deep bow. So they knew. My stomach churned.

"Welcome home. Please, allow me to serve." Her gaze flickered to the hound for a moment, confused, but snapped immediately back to Lucien. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

Telaendril had been maman's friend once. I remembered the night they came home with Ocheeva in giggles, before it had all gone wrong. Did she grieve? Or like with Gogron had she pushed past it, _accepted_ it?

A wane smile from Lucien, etching the lines under his eyes deeper. He wouldn't say it, but he was tired. "It is good to be home, Sister. I have something of an announcement to make. Gather everyone in the council room."

Another dip of her head and she was gone. I frowned to Lucien. "An announcement?"

"Ocheeva will take my place as Speaker of this Sanctuary. She is young, but I've been teaching her since she was a child." His gaze turned on me, calculating. "… There will be something of a celebration for her, I imagine."

I couldn't bite back my scoff in time. "And not for you?"

A crooked smirk. "That as well, I suppose." It softened. "… Dust."

"_What."_ I hugged myself tight, only opening my eyes again to look at him when he placed a hand on my shoulder.

"Do not make the mistake of thinking we do not mourn. We grieve privately, as is our way. We haven't forgotten her."

A tight squeeze in my chest, brief but explosively painful. I swallowed it back again, inhaling deep. I didn't want to celebrate with them, but neither did I want their pity. The thought of Netta hugging me, trying to soothe me, of Vicente's quiet kindness – no. Not now. "… I'll – I'll go home."

"Running again, pet?"

I didn't reply. I left him, left them, and with the resented reminder on four legs at my side I made my way home at last.

"Brrr." It was freezing inside, this long with the hearth left cold. I stripped off my cloak and sodden boots, kicking them into the corner with a squelch as I made my way to kneel by the woodpile and –

"Ack!" The mutt. Of course. Immediately in front of my face now I was lowered, grinning widely, tongue lolling. I glared at him and pushed past as he whimpered for attention, ignoring him. Logs and tinder, a spark of fire magic. Water in the kettle and the kettle on the hearth.

"_You'll make this empty little house a beautiful home, just by being you."_

I winced at the echo of her voice, looking around. In the greyness of the morning it seemed dreary even in here with the fire stoked, long shadows cast drab and colourless, mud and snow tracked onto the floor.

It didn't feel like a home. Not now. It felt cavernously, utterly empty.

I didn't belong at the Sanctuary. I hardly felt like I belonged _here._ And I couldn't go back to the University.

What did that leave me with?

I slid my satchel off with a thump and surveyed the room, giving a particular glower to the massive dog already making himself at home in front of the fire. An empty house, a Family that wasn't mine, and an unwanted canine guest.

…But.

My satchel, where it lay on a chair, had slid open. A book had fallen out, slapped open face-up on the floor. I picked it up and kept it on the page where it fell, running down the ink with my thumb, mouthing the words.

_Sheogorath took hold of the petulant woman and ripped her asunder. From her tendons he made lutes. From her skull and arm bones he made a drum. From her bones he made flutes. He presented these gifts to the mortals, and thus Music was born._

What had Antoinetta said to me? That I hummed to myself all the time?

It was something. Some flicker of warmth and colour I could hold on to, keep for myself. The Altmer at the shrine was right – I'd remember the freedom there, the bliss. Funny. Had I belonged there, of all places?

Humming to myself, I made tea and did the best I could to make myself at home.

The world really did keep turning, in spite of it all.

Everyone knew, of course. Rumours of Kvatch spread like a plague through the city, and the fear in the air was palpable. Everyone wondering whether there would be another attack, wondering what beings so threatened our quiet lives. And as word of more and more gates opening spread, wondering when we might be next.

But still, the city moved day by day. I reopened shop – getting a scolding from a few customers about my unexpected closures – and set back to work. Lucien vanished to Farragut, and I carefully avoided the Sanctuary. I tried, as best I could, to cope with my grief and get on with my life.

I remembered with a pang what mum had said, time and time again_. Make the best of it._ Perhaps, just perhaps, I could pretend to have normality. Peace.

I shook my head, laughing under my breath. Who was I trying to fool?

Nothing had changed here, yet everything had. The mutt, for example. I forced myself to work around him, scolding him when he got underfoot of my potion making, finding myself absent-mindedly petting him in spite of myself. I resented him, but he seemed so badly to want my approval.

Whatever his origins he was earnest and loyal to me, moreso than anyone I'd known. Moreso, perhaps, than my own mother.

Maybe that was what she wanted to give me then, what she felt she couldn't in life. Loyalty.

The other change was more inside than out. I daydreamed. Mind drifting back to the swamps, back to that hazy time I spent with the cultists and to the myths I'd read. Easy to let my thoughts wander as I worked, remembering. _You can be your own must in the dark._

"Keeping busy, poppet?"

I almost jumped out of my chair, jolting my elbow against the desk and sending my inkpot toppling. "Gods, _dammit,_ could you not have _knocked _– "

A low chuckle. "Why would I knock? I have keys."

"_Common courtesy.__"_

"Something important you're working on, is it?"

A string of curses. I tried to mop up the ink without luck and growled, tossing down the rag and giving up on my paper. Dammit, I'd have to start the order all _over._ Not an urgent task, but a tedious one I'd spent the evening doing, logging what reagents I'd used, what needed resupplying. "No, I'm giving myself wrist cramps for _fun._ What do you need?"

"Am I not permitted to visit my favourite alchemist?" He approached my desk, casting a brow at the hound who stood to greet him, undoubtedly desperate for more focused attention. "You haven't been to the Sanctuary since we left."

"I have no need to be." I bit my tongue as my quill spattered, splotches of ink blotting along the parchment. "I left my potions for the week in the basement of the house. I'm sure someone can grab them from there." Even that was closer than comfortable, for me. Seeing the scene engraved on it, hearing my memories in echo.

"_Slay her. Sacrifice her to me, as I did my own children centuries ago. Show me your loyalty, my daughter."_

"_After all, even I'm not so cruel to me children as her!"_

Voices, memories battled for dominance in my head at the thought. I grit my teeth to push them away, mopping up the remaining ink as best I could.

"You know what I mean." Lucien's voice dripped with sarcasm as he approached, placing a hand over my shoulder onto the table so he could hover_, loom._ "You know, pet, defiance has its charms, but it does become wearisome eventually."

"Where's the fun if I don't make you work for it?" I grinned up at him, mirthless and bitter. These attempts at playing pretend, at normalcy these past days left me increasingly irritated, quick to snap even at him._ Especially_ at him. "If you can't be bothered to drag your carcass here to get in my bed, you don't deserve to get into it. I won't be coming for you."

In contrast, he must have been in a good mood. A smirk crawled onto his lips. "I _beg _to differ, my dear."

I scoffed, letting the quill drop from my hand so I could stand and turn, forcing him back from me as the chair was pushed back with a scrape of wood on wood. "You're as bad as the _dog_, trying to sniff between my legs. I should send you both out to the stables, where you belong." I pointed to the mutt, who gave a piteous whine.

His smirk tightened. I was mocking, but only myself, in truth. We both knew who gave orders here. His gaze strayed to the hound. "Have you named him yet?"

"No." I glanced between them both, then gave a venomous smirk of my own. "I should name him after you. Yes – I think that's fitting, don't you?" Seeming to understand he was being spoken of the hound bounded over for more petting, rolling his head back and forth under my hand. "I'll call him Luke."

At that, the hound – now named Luke – gave a pleased woof. I grinned grimly at him, then back to Lucien in satisfaction.

"How very flattering." Whatever humour had been in his smile had fled even as it remained fixed on his lips, eyes dark. I was loathe to admit it, but that was enough to intimidate me. I shrank, glaring.

"Lucien, I'm in no mood. I'm _exhausted.__"_

"Yes. I couldn't help but notice you've been distracted, since I found you at that shrine."

I spat back, an echo of our argument in the swamps. "Can you blame me?"

"Oh, I think I can find fault." He threw something – a book – onto the table. I stared, the blood draining from my face. Myths of Sheogorath – _my_ copy of it, I was certain. How had he found it?_ Why_ did he have it?

His voice grew low. I knew now why he'd approached so casually, why he'd let me have my barbs – he was bringing my guard down. "I cannot force you to understand the Dread Father, or our ways. I can only hope that will come to you in time, if I am patient."

I swallowed hard, taking an unconscious step back towards my table, my hand landing on the book. "It won't."

He shook his head, lip curling. "We'll see. But this," he gestured to the book, unadorned and seeming to normal under my hand. "Will _not_ be tolerated, Dust. You have a duty to the Brotherhood as our healer and alchemist, and you will not be allowed to shirk it to pursue some harebrained worship of _the god of madness."_

"I was curious," I snapped back. "They helped me in the swamps, sheltered me. I was a scholar before you ripped me away from my life, and believe it or not, I still enjoy scholarly pursuits. It's a _book_, Lucien, not a forbidden tome of – of mad _spells_!" Could he see the truth? The spark of excitement Sheogorath's voice had lit in me, the faint hope that sputtered back and forth since Leyawiin? I knew I couldn't pursue it, but _gods,_ I wanted to. To have something to cling to, beyond what my mother had chosen. Beyond what she'd left behind for me to salvage.

He made a face of disgust, lip raised to show teeth, eyes closed as his head shook. "Then join the Mages Guild, if you must. It would be good for appearances, to have you be a part of them. Any alchemist in the city would be. Find other ways to occupy yourself, but not this."

"Why _not_ this? What do you care?"

His eyes flashed. "I didn't drag you out of Oblivion only for you to dive back in."

I swallowed, remembering. The sheer height, dizzying, swaying and rumbling from the tower, leaping to the safety of his arms. Him holding me back, firm but gentle, as I reached towards what remained of my mother. My gaze flickered away – submission.

We remained silent for a few moments, perhaps both of us lost in our recollections. I put on tea for something to do with my hands, any excuse to keep from having to speak to him. When I offered him a mug he took it from my hand, then placed it down on the table, gaze never leaving my face.

He kissed me.

I wanted to turn away. I wanted to swear and spit at him, slap him like he once had me. I wanted to submit to him, to pin him to the nearest wall and _ravish _him, to flee and never look back. I hated him, and perhaps – the thought _terrified_ me, but perhaps I still loved him, too.

In the end I only met it passively, parting with a trembling sigh.

"Little wonder I was once asked to kill you." Some flicker of his smirk returned, a hand moving into my hair, leaving me shivering. Prickles – of fear, of anger, or enjoyment? – ran down the nape of my neck. "You're _infuriating_, pet."

"Not half as much as you are," was my weak retort. He snickered, hand moving to the small of my back. I let my brow rest against his chest, inhaling the scent of him – soap and musk and witch-hazel, his aftershave. "Lucien – "

"Enough. We can argue later." I gasped as he lifted me off my feet, scooping me to carry me in his arms. I glared half-heartedly up at him, lips pursed. The hound – Luke – snuffled at my now vulnerable feet. "After I return."

"Return?"

"I will depart tomorrow and return in a week or two. Duty calls."

Both relief and disappointment roiled in me. "… We just got back."

"Nevertheless." He shifted me in his arms and even through my bitterness, I let myself enjoy that. Just for a moment how firmly he carried me, resting my head against his shoulder as he chuckled. The argument, the tension left behind for now, untouched. "So let's make the best use of the time, hm? We can argue later. What is the saying…"

I glared without venom now. "Let sleeping dogs lie? You really_ are _a tramp."

A wolfish smirk. "Does that make _you_ the one who rises with fleas, pet?"

I resisted the urge to try and kick him in the face as he laughed, all the way up to my bed.


	51. Chapter Fifty-One

It was well past midnight by the time we were spent, now only sharing my bed for warmth and company. At least, I was – his own motives for staying, I couldn't know. But as much as I was loathe to admit it, I was glad. It was comforting to feel his body, solid and warm, beside me. The rise and fall of his chest, the little laughing rumble he gave when I sighed into his neck.

My lips grazed the stubble of his jaw, hand tracing down his chest. I still felt divets there, countless little scars. How many were from the traitor? How many from the harrada in Oblivion? Or were they from long before he knew me, from his days training with my mother?

A twinge of pain at the thought. Still, it was soothed by not being alone. Even if it meant laying with him, it was better than laying alone, cold and trapped with my thoughts. Besides, part of me dared to hope he cared too, in his own way. Was being possessive akin to being protective?

My bitterness melting away I took comfort in it, letting my worries come to rest for now.

"Lost in thought, pet?"

"Mm?" I had straddled his back then, rubbing my hands firmly up and down the length of it. His muscles pressed back against my touch, molding and relaxing under my hands. "Yes. I'm a scholar, remember?"

He snickered into the pillow. For a moment, I had to admire the view – the taut, lank lines of his shoulders and back, flexed from his crossed arms supporting his head. The way his hair fell untied, loose and wild, perfect for running my fingers through. I indulged for a moment, earning another little rumble of a purr. "I didn't think they taught such things at the Arcane University."

I grinned. "Oh, that's _exactly_ where I learned it. Why do you think all mages wear robes? Easy access." In the hush and warmth of my bedroom, lit only by a flickering candle, I felt safe. The rest of the world, our arguments, the shrine and the laughing echo, all had melted outside of here. I'd have to face it again eventually, but not yet. Not quite yet.

"Tell me something about yourself." I was struck with a sudden thirst to know more about him then, for pillow talk, my head tilting. He snorted into the pillow.

"And what would you want to hear, my dear?"

"I don't know. Something." I remembered the long nights Bolor and I would spend together, trading strange little facts and stories about ourselves. "Your name is Breton, but you look Imperial. Act it, too."

"And what does _that _entail, pet?"

"Oh, you know." I waved a hand in the dark, dismissing the question. "Charming, smug, slimy, all of that. But you didn't answer my question."

"I'll take that as a compliment." He sat silent for a moment beneath me. "My mother was a Breton, my father an Imperial."

"But you didn't take his name?"

"Why would I give him that honour?" He sneered. "No, pet, my name is my own. The Dread Father is the only father I've ever known, or needed." Another pause, as though he was mulling on his own words. I listened intently, hoping for more. He spoke so little of himself, his history.

"… And what of you? Surely Abelle didn't name you after dirt."

"_Dust,"_ I corrected him, giving a harder press of my fingers into back for good measure. "It was my father's surname, my birth father. He died when I was very young. I took it myself when I knew I didn't want to be a Toltette. Suits me better, I think."

"And your given name?"

I was silent a long moment, biting my tongue. How many knew of my given name, these days? I shared it rarely. I disassociated myself with it. She was a little girl who had lost her papa and all she knew in a single night. She was named for a god who'd done nothing for her, and for a title she never accepted. Still, he'd shared, and I wanted to be able to trust him. I murmured. "… Gabriel."

"Hmn." He hummed for a moment in thought. I could hear his grin creep into his words. "Yes. A name like that and I would change it, too."

"_Ass.__"_ I smacked him lightly on the back of the head, only making him snicker. Such a silly little tease, but it made me smile. I continued tracing along his scars, up his shoulders, down his arms, and stopped cold.

At first, in the dimness, I could have mistaken it for the wolf bite I had healed at Applewatch. But no – a closer look, and it was indisputably human. Small but deep, not quite healed. Perhaps two weeks old, at the most.

The world swam, yet became crystal clear in the same moment. I stopped touching him, stopped moving, trying to keep the tremor out of my voice. "Lucien?"

"Mhmn?"

I braced myself and traced the scar. "What's this?"

He propped himself up on his elbows, glancing at where I pointed, then at me with a cast brow. "A scar, evidently."

"And when did that happen?" I asked, but we both knew the answer. There was no point in denying it.

"About two weeks ago, give or take a few days. You've quite the set of little fangs, my pet."

The thief had been quick, deadly, more than any common cutpurse. He'd met me where Lucien had been meant to meet me, where he should have been in the first place. I remembered the revulsion on his face upon meeting Phillida in Bravil. I remembered the taste of rust in my mouth as I sank my teeth into the thief's arm. My potion, ruining any chance I had of healing the captain as his blood pooled.

All in one motion I slid away from him and stood, covering myself. A shiver crawled down my back. "It was _you."_

"I knew Phillida's route to his home at night, and it seemed the quickest way to attract his attention somewhere secluded. No one would blame you. It is quite clear you have no skill with a blade, and could never have committed the murder."

Disbelief, even as I knew it was true. I felt breathless, empty, yet somehow heavy enough to sink into the earth. "You _used_ me."

"I could predict how you would react most easily. Save the little nip," he was smiling, how could he be _smiling?_ A low chuckle. "I needed to attract his attention. I could not count on someone conveniently being in the right place, at the right time. You were never in any real danger."

"He was a good man." My voice grew raw with the strain of holding back my anger, my tears, the sudden crushing weight of it all. "He helped me. He found me outside Kvatch and brought me to Bravil, to _you_, safely."

"He was a thorn in our side for twenty years, and that he might live his days out peacefully in retirement was an affront to Sithis. After all he had done, all the Brothers and Sisters he had taken from our family, he needed to die." He spoke coolly, factually, brow raised as though he was surprised at my anger. "The opportunity presented itself, and I saw no reason not to pursue it."

My words left me as a hoarse hiss. "You used one of _my _potions."

"A testament to your skill as an alchemist, that it was one of your creations to send his soul screaming to the void. You should be honoured."

"If this was such an honour, why didn't you _tell _me!?"

"I knew how you would react, just as you are now. You are – soft." His smile twisted, voice gentle and amused as though he was trying to speak to a child. "You were never taught. You have none of the sharpness honed in your sister, or – "

"Don't – " I twirled on my feet to face him, wild, stabbing a finger towards him. "Don't you_ dare_ mention her."

His voice lowered, eyes dark. "…Or your mother. Abelle would have been pleased with his death, and with the hand you played in it."

The hand I played. Unknowingly used as a weapon, a tool, bait. I took a shuddering inhale through my teeth, raking my hands through my hair and pacing in circles. What had been so peaceful before, so safe and intimate, now seemed jagged and cold. I began to dress, ripping through my drawers, movements strained with fury and guilt. I felt I could vomit.

"Where are you going?"

"Away. Anywhere but here." Luke awoke at the noise and padded into my bedroom, giving a sleepy yawn. I pushed past him and fled down the stairs, out of my own home, onto the street.

Where could I go? I had nowhere, nothing. No one, but the man in my bed.

The clicking of claws caught my attention. I turned to see the hound following me, head tilted, ears perked as though he was asking what was wrong. He sniffed at my feet, whined, then made way for the Sanctuary.

Where else could I go?

I followed.

Papa's head is on the floor. I can't move, there's blood on the letter opener – no, dagger, maman's dagger – there's blood and I can't breathe and Papa's head is on the floor.

I've never seen him so clearly in my memory. The wrinkles around his eyes, even young as he must have been. The laugh lines, the jaw and shape of his eyes so similar to mine.

Someone's holding me. I can't look behind, but I know who – Lucien, holding me prone. And maman holds the dagger, approaching me, her face flickering between wraith and wrath. Angry, why is she angry, what did I _do?_

The dagger falls into my chest, and there's an explosion of pain. I wake up screaming and from somewhere there's laughter, too, a stone face and laugher and the world melting into black and red.

Not my colours.

"Dust?"

At first, I thought it was my father speaking. I roused properly with a gasp at the voice – comforting, gentle, before waking took hold and reality set in. The Sanctuary – I was back at the Sanctuary. I'd had nowhere else to go, when I couldn't be in my home. I staggered to the guest room and must have collapsed. Memory came in shards – shared warmth and affection, my hands on his back, a bite scar on his arm. The world swam back into view and I dragged my hands through my hair, breathing ragged.

It wasn't my father, of course. Vicente stood nearby, eyes aglow in the darkness. His head tilted and he edged closer, murmuring. "You were screaming."

"I – I – I had a bad dream." My voice sounded childish in my ears, making me wince. I forced out a sigh, as though that might drag the remnants of the nightmare with it. "I'm sorry, Vicente, I didn't – I shouldn't even be here."

"It's alright. You are welcome here." A gentle smile. "Will you be able to return to sleep?"

No. Not now. When I closed my eyes, I could still see the flash of a dagger coming down, still feel the throb in my chest. I shook my head.

"Come with me, then. We'll have a late night drink." He gave a little smirk over his shoulder, beckoning and coaxing a smile from me. "I admit I am partial to those."

I braced myself for bare feet to meet the cold of the stone floor, only for them to meet warm fur, instead. Luke rose with a wide yawn, maw showing fearsome teeth, then sat up and happily waited for me to get out of the bed. Vicente stroked him between the ears, making his eyes roll up and close in pure canine pleasure. In spite of it all, I had to chuckle.

"You like dogs?"

"I do. It is difficult to find a more loyal companion. Your mother gifted you well." At my wince, his face softened. "Even if it may be difficult to appreciate, under the circumstances."

I would have much preferred a proper drink at that point, but the tea Vicente offered still brought some comfort. I sipped it slow, holding the warmth and earthy sweetness on my tongue. After a moment he joined me, sitting across from me at the small table in his quarters.

Blessed silence between us, for several long minutes. I felt – comfortable with him, more than I could easily explain. I hated Lucien for what he was, but didn't Vicente do the same? He was a murderer, too. He would kill me, if asked. He too must have celebrated the death of a good, innocent man who had so long been a threat to his kind. I hadn't even seen him in weeks, but sitting with him, sipping his tea felt like spending time with…

With family.

He didn't need to prompt me, didn't need to say a word. I told him. About losing my mother in Oblivion, going to Bravil with Phillida. Screaming at the Night Mother, running into the swamps, the cultists and colours. How the hound came, Lucien came, the attack in Leyawiin and the guilt in the Imperial City. My argument with Lucien, not hours ago, as I realized the truth. I left out only Sheogorath's voice in my head, not wanting to try and explain that away. It all came out in a jumble, leaving me blinking back tears by the end of it.

During it all, he never said a word.

Only when I fell into silence, taking shuddering breaths to hold back tears, did he speak. The hound had nestled his head onto my lap in the meantime, seeming to sense my need for comfort.

"You have been through much, in a very short time." He paused, seeming to weigh his words. "And you did not choose any of this, it is true. Most of us come to the Night Mother's embrace willingly, eager to find a home here."

"Exactly." Bitterness crept into my voice. "It isn't fair."

"Most," he added, stopping me. His eyes gleamed. "But not all."

I frowned, my hand coming to a rest on the curve of Luke's brow. "I don't understand."

His eyes closed, fingers slowly linking together, chair creaking as he leaned back. Silence – I'd never met a man more comfortable with silence, with taking his time to speak, and speak wisely. At last he continued.

"I have been a vampire for nearly three hundred years. But I was not always one, nor was I a member of the Dark Brotherhood. Indeed, I spent nearly a hundred years wandering, near feral, until the Brotherhood found me."

I sipped my tea as I listened. His eyes seemed to fade, gazing not at the stone wall behind me, but somewhere far away.

"I was turned on an expedition, deep into the ashlands of Vvardenfell. Before that, I was a scholar. Like yourself," he added, a hint of a smirk creeping onto his lips. "I had a future, loved ones. Unlike many who join the Brotherhood, I had no interest in murder. I had no need of a family. I already had one. I had wed that past summer, and my wife was carrying our child."

I swallowed hard, the subtle sweetness of the tea turning bitter. "And then…?"

"I couldn't turn down the expedition. I had known it would be dangerous, but it was simply too fascinating not to pursue. And the coin I would receive in exchange would have cemented a future for my family, a comfortable life. It went wrong, quickly. We were attacked, and I was the only survivor."

I could almost picture it, what it must have been like. Lost in the howling winds and dry, ashen wastes, bleeding out in a world of whirling red and grey.

"I dragged myself to a cave, and slept. When I awoke from days and nights of nightmares, I had – become this." He raised his hands, parted his lips to reveal pointed teeth. "The hunger had nearly driven me mad. I fell upon what remained of my comradeyyys bodies and devoured them. Only when I was sated did my senses come to me, did I regret. I knew, then, that I could never return to my wife and child. I was no longer a part of their world.

I learned to hunt. I had to, in order to survive. The ashlands are barren and cruel, its inhabitants equally so. I had to learn how to creep into their camps as they slept, to sip blood and leave before dawn without waking a single soul. How to kill a lone traveler without leaving tracks, lest my lair be found. I did not wish to develop these skills. I wanted – all I wanted – was to return to the world I knew. But that was no longer a possibility, for me."

My tears dried the hound had pulled himself from my lap, now curled at my feet and contentedly snoring away. Vicente gave him a fond glance, then continued as I held my tea. It had long since gone cold.

"After some hundred years of living in caves, hunting and surviving in the shadows, the Dark Brotherhood found me. At first, their offer disturbed me. What part of my mind had remained intact through the decades abhorred this life, these murders. I killed only to survive, not for pleasure, nor profit. Yet I saw nowhere else I could turn, and I longed for the company of mortals once more. I accepted, and found myself a part of their Family."

"Not all." I echoed his earlier words in a murmur. "You didn't choose, not really. You had no other choice."

"Indeed. The young man I was, of noble blood and gentle nature, would have been aghast to see me as I am now. Yet, I am contented. Throughout the centuries, I have come to know and love the Dread Father and our Dark Matron. I have come to love my many siblings, and to mourn their losses when they pass on. This was not the fate I would have chosen for myself, yet I would choose no other path now. I have come to be happy, here."

My gaze turned to my lap, to hide tears coming back. "You made the best of it."

"Yes. Your mother wanted the same, for you. As does Lucien, and as do I." He folded his hands, gazing intently at me. "This is not what you have chosen, but I ask that you have patience. You may find peace with us, in time."

My voice broke. "What if I can't?"

"There is little other choice. It is human nature – we survive, we adapt, or we die. You are strong, Dust." His voice softened. "Not like your mother, but in a different nature. Perhaps you might find joy, in knowing our mother's love as we do. In devoting yourself to something larger than you can comprehend, in having a family that loves you."

I squeezed my eyes shut. Tears rolled down my cheeks, even as I tried to force them away. "I don't – " It was childish, but I could think of no other way to put it. "I don't like killing."

"No. You are a creature of life, as Abelle once called you." A soft, fond smile curved his lips. "But even that is a skill we need. Your work in alchemy is remarkable, your dedication to healing admirable. Though I admit it is rare, I believe it may be possible to please our Dread Lord without blood on your own hands. Serve your family faithfully, and they will smile upon you."

_Make the best of it._

Out of habit I went to take a sip of the tea, only making a face as I found it cold and choked it down. Vicente chuckled and rose, taking the mug from my hand and placing it beside his.

"Now, I am certain you are tired. You are welcome to stay here for the rest of the night, or to return to your own home."

"I'll go back." Lucien would have left by now, or at least I hoped. I longed for the comfort of my own bed. Peace and quiet, if only for a little while.

"Certainly. But…" Vicente paused as I stood, mulling over his words. "… Antoinetta is on assignment at the moment, but should return in a few days' time. Ask her how she came to us. I believe you may find her answer interesting."

"I'll do that." I nodded, automatically moving to stroke Luke's head as he rose with a yawn. "I… thank you. Thank you, for listening."

"It is no trouble, I assure you."

"Vicente…"

It had left me before I could pull it back, and he tilted his head to show he was listening. I bit my tongue for a moment before speaking. Remembering how kind he'd been to me, how he'd written to maman. You were never quite able to forget her, Lucien had said about him.

"… Did you love her?"

"In my own way." It didn't faze him, the question, even for how prying it felt. The corner of his mouth crinkled with a smile, then paused. Something softened in his eyes as he looked me over. "… You are not your mother. You never will be, and perhaps you may never follow in her footsteps." His voice lowered. "But she loved you, and I know she would be proud of you."

Tears fell, sudden and hot, and then I was clinging to him tight. His arms moved away for a moment as he stiffened in surprise before slowly returning to circle around me. He held me for a long moment before I parted, giving him a watery smile and returning to my mercifully empty home.

I had much to think on. But before I could wade through it all my head hit the cool pillow, and I was gone.


	52. Chapter Fifty-Two

The Sanctuary smelled divine, and that could mean only one thing.

I clutched my weekly delivery of potions, frowning at the heavenly scent that emanated from the living quarters. Strange, all the stranger for where it came from – this underground lair, all cold stone and flickering candles, smelled instead like a cheery bakery. Even Luke seemed entranced by the smells, trotting obediently at my side, nose high in the air. I followed my own nose to the kitchens, watching with a smile as Antoinetta danced as she worked.

Home from contract, I supposed. I'd avoided the Sanctuary since that night I spoke with Vicente but knowing she was back, remembering what he had told me to do – I hung back in the thresh-hold for a moment, biting my lip.

I hadn't seen her since – since before. And the thought of hearing her pity me still made me wince. But I owed her at least a hello. I hadn't forgotten the little tantrum she'd thrown when I'd avoided her last time.

I shook my head out of my thoughts. She sang now, too – tunelessly chirping as she kneaded bread and sorted through spices, pouring them delicately onto the pale, formless lump and giving it structure and taste. It took me a moment to recognize the song.

"_Oh, it's lovely to give your love a single perfect rose,_  
_It's lovelier still to do the same not wearing any clothes!_  
_Oh, it's lovely to abandon all your cares and fears and woes…"_

I joined in for the last lyrics, grinning ear to ear as she turned in surprise, then returned my beam and joined me. Our voices rose in unison, absurdly cheerful in a place like this. Even the hound joined in, howling tunelessly along.

"_It's lovelier still to do the same not wearing any clothes!  
Yes, sir, it's lovely not to wear any clothes!"_

We both broke down in laughter, pealing through the stone walls, high and ringing and _wonderful_. Only when we'd gasped back our breaths and wiped away our tears did she wave me over to her side.

"Dusty! Aw, I missed you! Come here, c'mon, c'mon!" She pulled me in for a one-armed hug as with the other she continued to knead the dough, glancing over me to check on the loaf already in the stone oven. My mouth watered – I smelled thyme, sharp cheese, roasted garlic all melding in perfect harmony. For an alchemist, the unison of ingredients was always a skill to be admired, especially when it created something delicious. "How're you, hm?"

Relief, that she didn't pry or tut over me. And more – relief that I could still laugh, still be silly, even after everything. My shoulders slumped in the hug before she pulled away. "I'm alright." My nose twitched. "Well, I _will_ be if you give me a slice or two of that. And you?"

"Well, Vicente's gone, so I'm just _perfect._" She must have noticed my look of surprise, giving me an impish grin. "Well, not really _gone_ – old codger's just out on work for a while. But it means I can cook whatever I want!" She spun merrily, giggling all the while, golden curls bouncing. "Without him glaring at me like I'm _his_ next meal. Oh! And look at the _puppy_!"

She abandoned her work to kneel by Luke, rubbing under the scruff of his neck and earning enthusiastic, almost desperate kisses. Poor thing. After all, Netta was the first one to really lavish him in love like that. "Ohh, what a good boy! Hello, doggie! I've heard about you, yes I have! Who's a good puppy? _Who's_ a good doggie-doggie, hm? Oh, I'm so jealous!" A dramatic sigh and she rose, wiping saliva off her cheek and – I breathed a sigh of relief – moving to wash her hands. "Have you named him yet?"

I waded through her chatter, managing to dig out the important bits while placing my basket of potions on a nearby table. "Luke."

"Luke?" She frowned, button nose wrinkling. "That's _weird_."

I rolled my eyes, voice dry as parchment. "Shadowdog doesn't have the same _ring _to it."

Another flutter of infectious giggles, leaving me helpless to do anything but giggle in response. I joined her at the table, barely catching a final lump of dough she threw at me. "Here, be a darling, won't you? I could use a hand. Got to get these all done before that bloodsucker gets back!"

I stripped off my gloves and began to tame the dough, stretching and folding it into submission as she threw in a handful of chopped, dried peaches to her own loaf. I bit my lip in thought for a moment before tossing in a sprinkling of rosemary and sea salt.

"Remember when you first got here and we cooked the pies? I knew you'd be a good assistant chef the moment I saw you."

"Alchemist's prerogative." I grinned, slapping the dough down even as inwardly I hesitated. It was so – so _comfortable_ to see her like this, to work side by side and laugh and sing. To see her as just a girl, cooking for those she loved.

As a sister.

I swallowed hard, gaze focused on my work even as I spoke. "… Netta?"

Unaffected by my change in mood she continued to knead and roll, occasionally throwing a tidbit – a nut, or a piece of dried fruit – onto the floor for Luke to gobble up. "Mhmn?"

"How did… I mean, why…" I pursed my lips, searching for the right words. "… How did you end up in a place like this?"

"You mean the Sanctuary?" She began shaping the dark loaf in her hands. At my nod she giggled. "Well, the obvious way, silly. I _killed_somebody. A few somebodies, really."

"But…" I exhaled through my teeth. "Why?"

"Because they deserved it!" She skipped over to put another loaf in the oven, grinning ear to ear. "Look, I get you're not so good at this. It seems wrong, from the outside." She continued at my nod. "But sometimes it's that simple. Somebody's alive, and needs to go away. That's the business part."

If this is what Vicente had hoped would convince me, it wasn't working. "It _can't _be that simple. Why did you kill? Why do you – _like_ killing?"

She paused, floured hands raised from the counter. A beat, two as she seemed to lose herself in thought, eyes downcast to the table. Her sigh seemed older than her, decades older. "… Have you ever felt powerless, Dusty? Just completely lost and helpless?"

I thought of being dragged here in the first place, though it seemed so long ago. Seeing my blood stain the handprinted page that bound me, being underneath Bellamont in the snow with his hands wrung around my throat. Tears threatened as the thread of thought continued – reaching pointlessly for maman, knowing she was gone. Kneeling by Phillida as his blood drained away.

The only place I hadn't felt helpless was the shrine. Was I simply too lost from my senses to care, then?

I nodded.

"It's the worst feeling in the world. And the Dark Brotherhood makes it so I don't ever feel that way again, anymore." Her tone became more businesslike, two powdery fingers raising. "One, they give me work. And I_ like_ my work. I know that sounds awful to you," she continued as my lips parted, "But it's true. It's an art, it really is. And I'm_ good_ at it, and it makes me know I'm strong. That I don't have to be afraid."

My mouth had long gone dry, throat hoarse. "… And the second?"

"Two, they give me a_ Family_. People who love me and take care of me, and I do for them, too. We work together and keep each other safe."

"But…" I sighed through my teeth in thought as she moved now to the oven, pulling two loaves out steaming hot to put in another two. "Wasn't there – something else you could do? I mean, look! Killing isn't all you're good at, is it? It's not all you like. You could've apprenticed to a baker, or…"

Her laughter wasn't laughter at all, not really. She shook her head, giving Luke an idle pat in passing as she moved to start cleaning up the table. "Oh, Dusty. You're so _naive._ Nobody was going to take in some half-starved, flea-ridden girl off the streets. I mean, I couldn't even _read_ until Vicente taught me. Nobody wanted me." Her gaze softened, a smile turning her lips and dimpling her cheeks. "Until the Speaker – the_Listener_ now - came for me. He was the first person who was really kind to me, who told me I had a future."

Lucien. I could almost imagine it, how honey-sweet his words must have seemed to a lonely girl on the streets. "… You don't feel used?"

"_They _used me, the people out there." She jerked her pointed chin upwards, to the streets above us, then handed me a broom. "Here, help me clean up. Look – I'm sure it sounds awful to an outsider, but there's nothing else like it."

"Murdering," I murmured, beginning to sweep as told. A little nod from her, lips pursed.

"It's not like I hold a grudge against every contract or something. That'd be dumb. It's not about hate or revenge. It's about power. That's something you've gotta _learn,_ Dusty." A sad note crept in, pity in a way I hadn't expected. "The world's cruel. You have to hold on to what power you can get, or it'll eat you up."

"But they can't all deserve it." Part of me wanted to stop arguing but I pressed on anyway, stepping over Luke to sweep around him on the floor. "It isn't – it isn't fair."

I looked back, at her laugh. That sharp, crackly sound, the little shake of her head. She really did think me naive. "_Life_ isn't fair. Haven't you been listening? It wasn't fair that my auntie used me like a slave, or what those guards in the prison did to me. It wasn't fair that the rest of the world saw me starve and looked the other way." A harsh, bitter note, so strange a contrast to her usual chime. "Why should I care about_fair_?"

I kept my gaze to the floor, now. Unable to understand but ashamed to have brought it up, to have made her remember things I could only imagine. Another sigh. She came in close now, tilting her head down to try and meet my gaze with a little smile.

"… You're sweet, Dusty-doo. You wanna help people, I know. But you've gotta help and protect _yourself_, or you'll never make it. Yourself, and your Family. That's what the Brotherhood does for me. They could do it for you, too, if you'd become one of us."

"I don't… want to hurt people." An echo of what I'd told Vicente.

"It's not so hard, y'know. You might even like it. It makes you feel powerful, feel safe. Makes you feel – _free."_

Freedom. Lucien said I craved it, and in an awful way, maybe she had a point. Power to decide one's fate meant freedom. And what offered more power than power over others, down to their very lives?

"Just think about it, okay? Hey," her voice had regained its usual warmth, a grin on her lips as she took the broom from me. "Little ickle Dusty-poo. If you wanted, I could teach you! You could be my apprentice. Like a little sister!"

Relief now things felt more back to normal, relief for an excuse to drop the subject. I gave her my best withering glare. "I'm at_ least_ a year older than you."

"Doesn't matter." She pointed her nose in the air, strutting away. "It's about experience. And you can't get mad at me just 'cos I'm more worldly _and_ still have my youth."

"_You - ! "_ I moved to smack her with the bristled end of the broom, leaving a mark of white on her bottom, only to receive a handful of walnuts in my face for my trouble. We wrestled for the broom, Luke hopping excitedly around us and barking, almost cheering us on. "I'll show you _youth_ – "

"Like to see you try! Lookit, you're making a mess!"

"The rolling pin's no fair!"

"Whadid I tell you, sister?" Laughter and the smell of fresh baked bread sang through the Sanctuary once more. "No such thing as _fair_!"

But it seemed a fair enough trade that for my company she gave me a loaf, speckled with berries and wrapped in a cloth to stay warm. More than fair that she didn't hold my prying against me and sent me off home with a swat on the bottom and a kiss blown goodbye.

I walked through the chilly morning now, milling through the streets crowded with people going to their work for the day. Losing myself in thought, only absent-mindedly pushing the cold wetness of Luke's snout away from the basket. Fair.

No. Life wasn't fair. And freedom, power – gods, those were tempting ideas. But not at the cost of an innocent life. There had to be another way. There _had _to be.

My thoughts strayed back to the shrine and lingered, even as I devoured my breakfast –_damn,_that bread was good – and set up shop for the day. Only when my first customer came in did I resurface, giving my merchant's smile.

"Good morning! Can I help you find anything, dear?"

Not often someone younger than myself came through, but the girl looked sixteen, eighteen at the most. Red-haired and speckled with freckles even after a sunless winter, a burlap sack over her shoulder. "G'morning, miss. The Stablemaster wanted t'pick up some liniment and… and…"

As she looked at me strangely I frowned. Did I know her from somewhere…?

"_You!"_ Only when I heard her voice in a shriek did it become familiar. "You're – you're the one what stole the horse! It was _you_!"

I felt the colour drain from my face into my feet, suddenly leaden. The_ girl_. At the stables, when I'd run off to Kvatch, _shit_ \- "I – I – "

"Guards!" She flew to the door, swinging it open to shout outside. "Guards, guards! Thief! Help! I need a _guard_ here!"

_Oh, shit._

Within minutes my little shop was swarmed, two guards flanking the girl glaring at me with arms crossed. An accusing finger lashed out from her as they panted, demanding explanation. Luke, to my relief, stayed back in the kitchen – it wouldn't help_ anyone_ if he tried to take a guard's throat.

"Couple weeks ago, it was, she stole a horse from my master's stable! She just – just hopped on and rode off, like it was _nothing_!"

"I can explain – "

"Is that true, miss?" The guard gave me a withering look, like he expected me to deny it. I swallowed hard, hands in the air, giving something between a smile and a wince. After all…

"Er… _technically_?"

Blinks of surprise all around. I cleared my throat and made a point of keeping my hands up, away from the knife on my belt. "Please, I can explain – it was an _emergency,_ and – "

"Emergency nothing! Stealin's 'stealin." The girl pouted, raising a sharp chin as one of the guards approached with manacles clinking. I winced as they ensnared my wrists, cinching tight and immediately attacking me with an enchantment – drain magicka. Shit, shit, _shit_. "And_ I_ got beaten blue and garnished wages by the stablemaster 'cos I didn't stop you! It isn't _fair."_

A twinge of sympathy for the girl, and yet I had to laugh. "_Life's_ not fair." The guards, unamused, led me outside into a small curious crowd that had formed, shooing them out of the way and explaining the process to me. I'd get my chance to explain to the warden but, for now, I was under arrest.

Poor Luke followed me to the door, but no farther, whining pitifully before I shooed him inside. At least they were kind enough to let me lock up shop, and spotting Telaendril in the crowd, I knew he'd be alright. Now, whether or not _I_ would be…

I could only laugh.

_Life isn't fair. But it sure as hell has a sense of humour._


	53. Chapter Fifty-Three

_What would maman say if she could see me now?_

The back of my head hit cold stone behind me as I let myself sag, staring from the bench where I'd been seated to the shadowed ceiling above. They'd taken me from my house to the jail – not quite the dungeon, thank gods. For petty prisoners, bar fights and domestic disputes, more to put them away while they worked out paying the fine than true imprisonment. That was deeper below.

From somewhere was a faint, intermittent dripping. The scritch of the warden's quill. A rumbling snore from the cell's only other resident, the local drunk sleeping off a bad night.

And me.

Maybe it was just exhaustion, feeling emotionally wrung out after weeks of – of everything. Maybe the looming possibilities hadn't sunk in just yet. Whatever the case, I couldn't bring myself to be afraid. Frustrated, yes, even as inside I was laughing, and further still I was…

_What have you gotten yourself into this time, my Dust?_

I'd been in a prison only once before, years ago as a girl. A few times a year, we'd all bundle up in the carriage and head down to Jehenna or even Wayrest, a few days of precious escape from life at home. Anya and I always made the best of those visits. We'd explore the market with poor Madame Tucket huffing behind, marvel over strange baubles and wares, gawk at foreigners, try and fail to delicately eat those sticky, caramel-covered choux puffs the patisserie sold…

I'd given them the slip, once, and made my way to an alchemist's shop. I hadn't meant to _steal_ the reagents – in my young mind, I reasoned that I'd tell Tucket what I'd done, and we'd be forced to come back and pay from our spending money that she held. Tucket would never have let me buy them things outright, but if we had no other choice…

Of course, my plan never got that far. I was caught, and a local guard took me to the prison to wait for my wards to fetch me. I think she did it to scare me, more than anything – I knew later they'd never meant to keep me. But scare me it did. I'd cried and cried, until maman came for me.

Her voice in echo, making me blink back tears. I chuckled, a sharp exhale between my teeth, shaking my head.

"You think this is funny, do you?" The warden stood from his desk, approaching with arms crossed. "Horse theft is a serious crime. Prison time and a hefty fine, to boot. What, thought you'd just nab one of Cheydinhal's finest and head out for a joy ride?"

I couldn't help it. Another burble of laughter ended by my hand slapped over my mouth, a second too late as his brow drew down. A scowl. "Well, I'm going to make sure you pay every septim and spend every second of your sentence down here,_ brat. _You young ones, thinking you can just do whatever you want without consequences – "

"It wasn't – it wasn't like that. I fully meant to bring her back, but the guards took her." I shook off the mix of humour and despair, trying to keep my voice level as I stood to meet him at the bars. "I had to get to Kvatch. I didn't have my own horse."

"Oh, you were just _borrowin_g!" A sneer. He scoffed, lip raised to show yellow-and-brown streaked teeth, breath rank with tobacco. "It doesn't work like that. You've made your bed and now you're damned well going to lie in it. Do you even realize how long you're going to be in here?"

Now it was starting to sink in. A prickle down my back. I blinked. "… How long?"

A grin. "About a year, I'd say, eight months if you're on good behavior."

A _year?_

He chuckled at the look on my face, arms folding across his chest again as he regarded me smugly. "Sinking in now, is it? Just how much shit you're in?"

"You – you can't actually – "

"Oh, I very well can! We've got plenty of comfortable cells down in the dungeon that have gone empty for far too long."

The amusement was swept away. My jaw hung agape now as I scrambled to think of excuses, some bargaining chip, something – "I didn't – I only took her so I could try and help someone, I _had _to get to Kvatch, I – "

"Save it." He turned from me, speaking airily as he strode back to his desk while I clung to the bars. "My job is to see justice done, and I _will_. Unless you've got a treasure horde of gold for bail or a friend up in the castle, you're done."

I sunk back onto the bench, numb with shock.

After everything that I'd seen and done, after hell itself, how strange to find myself lost now. Not there, not in the blood and snow or ash and fire, but at the hands of local law enforcement. Such a simple, stupid, _normal_ thing to ruin my life.

A _year._

Maman wouldn't be coming to rescue me. Not this time. And Lucien was gone, out of the city. The Brotherhood had pull with the count but Netta had told me once that those stupid enough to get themselves caught were on their own –

And I certainly didn't have a treasure horde hidden away.

I was alone.

_Think._ I tried to catch my suddenly short breath, breathing deep the stale air_. Think!_ In the corner the drunk snorted, coming awake with a little gurgle.

"Bwu-wuh? Wher'm I now?"

"You're in the drunk tank, Aldos, where you belong." The warden didn't look up from his work, still scribbling away.

"Oh? Oh! S'all good, then, in't it?" A groan. The portly Dunmer leaned back against the wall again before creaking open a red eye, brow furrowing. "What's, what's a nice girl like you 'doin _here_, huh?"

"I…" The warden abruptly stood, interrupting me as he walked away from his desk, back out of the room. Only when the heavy footfalls of steel boots faded did I finish, blinking back tears. "… I stole a horse."

The man hiccupped, rubbing at his eyes. "Y'don't _look _the thieving type."

"I'm not." Maybe if I had been, I'd have realized just how dire the consequences would be. _Dammit, dammit! This is bad. This is – what can I do? How can I possibly get out of this?_ "I – I only took her so I could get to Kvatch. I was going to bring her back…"

"Kvatch?" He sniffled, scratching a muzzled chin. "Where the gate t'Oblivion came up?"

"… My mother was there."

Where before was a drunken daze, now something both sharper and softer, focused and sympathetic crept into his gaze. The apple of his throat bobbed. "You went after 'er?"

"I wasn't…" I clenched my teeth hard. It felt like I had to push past a heavy, black lump in my chest just to draw breath, just to speak. "… I wasn't fast enough."

"M'wife was killed by bandits on th'road, bout six weeks ago." I caught my breath. He said it so plainly, even as his voice was hoarse with grief. "Tried t'fight 'em off, but I just – I couldn't stop 'em."

My own grief felt – not gone, but smaller now. Softened knowing I was far from the only who knew loss. "… I'm so sorry."

"Let me give you some advice." A belch. He leaned forward, head between his knees for a moment before straightening. "Don't, don't, try t'deal with it like _I_ have, alright? Don't drink. They'll fine you out've house 'n home. Not two months ago I was a happy man with a pretty wife and a nice house, 'n now I'm jess th'local drunk. Just like that." A snap of his fingers.

"I…"

"Ridiculous, really. Ancestors, I wudn't _hurting_ no one. Just puked a 'lil, is all, and Dervera's fine with it. It's that thrice-damned _Leland_." He wasn't hearing me anymore, lost in his own injustice and grief. "Levying taxes t'keep the fat folk in the castle happy, the count and his poncy s'wit son, probably skimming it off fer his own purse…"

And now, I wasn't really hearing _him_. Dragging my fingers through my hair, trying to think, when I caught the last of his rant and blinked. Poncy s'wit son in the castle…

I flew to my feet. Over to the bars, grabbing them to look out as best I could. "Warden! Warden, sir – "

"Oh, for Talos sake…" A distant grumbling. The man came back glaring, a pair of manacles in hand. I bit back a shudder. "You're that eager to get to your new cell below, are you?"

"I _do_ have a friend in the castle."

A hiked brow. The Dunmer watched me warily, face contorted, as the warden scowled. "What're you on about?"

"The count's son!" Dammit, what was his name? I remembered his face at the dance, his almost endearingly pretentious attitude and detachment from the 'commonfolk' – "Farwil!" Not exactly a friend – we'd had one dance, barely exchanged names – but dammit, it wasn't like there was anything _else_ I could try, was there? "Please, let me send him a message."

"You're full of it." But he didn't seem certain. I could use that. I puffed myself up as best I could, fully becoming one of those 'poncy' nobles the Dunmer beside me so disdained.

"Perhaps. But on the off-chance I'm_ not_, it would look rather terrible for you if down the line, you found out I _was _a friend of his Lordship, wouldn't it? I wouldn't want to see your career endangered, sir."

He regarded me for a long moment. Then, finally, a gruff sigh. "What _message_– " A sneer. "Do you want sent to him?"

"Tell him…" I chewed my lip for a moment, thinking. "Tell him the Marquess he danced with at the Autumn Festival needs to speak to him, urgently. _Please_."

Another scoff. He turned, muttering in a mocking echo under his breath. "Some marquess."

Some marquess, indeed.

I flopped back down boneless, knowing from here I could only wait. The Dunmer watched me skeptically now, red eyes narrowed. "Yer a noble?"

"Well – yes and no. Not these days, not really. Just back in High Rock. But…" It was something. Wasn't it?

Maybe.

_What next, hm? _I scolded myself inwardly, blowing out a puff of air to get my bangs out of my eyes._ You met him for a few minutes, Mara's sake. Think he'll bust you out, pay your fine?_

_It's the best idea I've got. He asked me to dance, after all. Maybe he'll remember_. I did now, picturing that night, the twirling and laughter. He_ did_ seem to like me. Said I was a 'lovely young lady…'

Visions of giggling, toying with my hair and flirting with stableboys at the manor more to irritate Tucket and Toltette than anything else. Of purring at Bolor or taunting Lucien. Maybe I could use _that_ to my advantage, too. A little flutter of the lashes, a little tilt of the head…

My face flushed hot to consider it. _We__'ll see_.

Time passed. The minutes were punctuated by that continual dripping, the occasional snort from the Dunmer as he lay half-dozing now, but otherwise they crawled by in silence. Twenty minutes, forty. Finally the footsteps returned. I sprung to my feet, brushed myself off. Heard maman's whisper, in the back of my head.

_Mind the lace._

The warden returned, now accompanied by the young lord himself. I swallowed hard, tried to compose myself as best I could while my mind raced. What to say? Should I curtsy? For once I regretted not paying attention to Madame Tucket's lessons.

"Lord Farwil." I decided on just a little gesture, the ends of my skirt up for a moment, a bow of my head. The warden scoffed as Farwil frowned.

"Not often I see a Marquess in a cell. What in Vehk's name have you called _me_ down for, hm? Who _are _you?"

Shit. I stood upright again, trying to let my words come out honeyed. "We met at the Autumn Festival, my Lord. You danced with me."

Recognition lit his eyes, thank gods. A grin, ear to ear. "Ah! Yes_, yes_ – I remember now. The runaway Marquess, yes? Fled from her title and all that." Relief coursed through me as he stepped closer, an inquisitive line drawn over his brow, lips pursed. "But why are you in here?"

"I -…" Grace, poise, silver tongue. The traits of House Toltette, dammit, even if I'd never claimed myself one of them. "I've found myself in this untenable position, my lord, on, on account of a misunderstanding."

"Misunderstanding. _Nonsense_." The warden sneered. "She stole a horse, my lord."

Shock on the young Dunmer's face. "What possessed you to make you do that?"

"I had to get to Kvatch."

The air changed. Heavier, still. Farwil's eyes narrowed, then widened. "Kvatch. You were in Kvatch?"

I nodded, pursing my lips.

"You saw the Oblivion gate?"

"I went _in_ it."

He sucked in a breath through his teeth, staring at me. Even the warden seemed taken aback. "More and more have been seen, throughout the province. It can't be much longer until one comes here. The Knights of the Thorn have been preparing, but – tell me everything."

I hesitated. Uncertain how to bargain, instead flickering my gaze to my grip on the bars, then back to his eyes. He stroked his chin for a moment before nodding. "A moment."

He and the Warden vanished. I didn't dare sit back down, breath held, fingers clenched around the cold iron. Eyes closed, trying to drive away images that came with the thought of the destroyed city. They came anyway. Lucien trapped in the Harrada, the crumbling bridge, a gored hook…

I blinked back tears. Behind me the Dunmer grumbled, sitting upright again.

"S'pose you're walking out of here soon, then."

"I – I hope so." I had to force myself to relax, try and let the tension run from my shoulders. A glance back where he sat. The poor man looked a mess, I realized now – eyes bagged, chin scruffy, a yellowish stain on the front of his tunic. Grief had done that to him.

I couldn't let it do that to me.

"How – how long will they keep you here?"

"Not long, 'magine. Jest long enough fer me to sober up, is all." He waved me off, grunting, rubbing the side of his head. "Almalexia's _tits_, my head hurts. I'd kill for a Sujamma."

How tempting it had been in the swamp, to slip into the haze those drugs had offered and let my hurt float away. He must have felt the same. A moment to think, and I decided.

"… I run The Dusty Cauldron, near the chapel. I – if the drinking is a problem, if you need help, you could drop by. At the very least get something for hangovers." I gave a little smile.

A frown from him. Finally he nodded, leaning against the wall again. "I'll think 'bout it. Going t'sleep this off s'more, first. No more stealing horses for you, now, you hear?"

I had to laugh in spite of myself, nodding. "No more stealing."

"Good." In a matter of minutes he'd drifted off, snoring loudly, unmoving even when the warden and Lord Farwil returned. Hope sparked at the scowl the warden wore, not to measure a flicker of satisfaction.

"Now, regardless of your title or your reasons, you _did_ commit a crime." The young Lord crossed his arms over his chest, speaking with all the noble Imperial air any Count of Cyrodiil surely held. "And we cannot overlook that. Your fine remains, and must be paid off without argument."

Alright. The fine, I could handle. It might take _years _of paying it off, garnished from my shop's income, but I could handle that. Imprisonment, though…

"However, in light of your justification I, Lord Farwil Indarys, son of Count Andel Indarys, waive your sentence." He rose a hand in gesture, pointed chin high. I could have dropped with relief. "With the caveat that another crime, even a minor one, will have you thrown back in here to serve out the full sentence _immediately._"

The warden took over now in his official capacity, speaking dully, almost pouting. "Do you understand and accept these terms?"

"Yes! I – yes, of course."

Only reluctantly he took out keys and opened the cell. I took a hesitant step, then another out, breathing a sigh of relief. The warden gave a low grumble in his throat, glancing under bushy grey eyebrows between me and the young Dunmer.

"Shall I escort her out, my Lord?"

"No need. She can walk with me, and I'm certain our Marquess – " His eyes on me, gleaming red, just a touch of a smirk on his lips. "Will be on her best behavior now, yes?"

"Yes, my Lord, without question."

We stepped into the fresh air, damp and sweet with the scent of melting snow. Spring was truly beginning to settle now in Cheydinhal, day by day shrinking snow piles until only green, muddied grass was left behind. Birds chirped in the eaves of the nearby buildings, a warm breeze flirting with my hair. Farwil took my hand as we surfaced, moving past to stand before me.

"Please, tell me _everything_ you can. Father insists the guard will handle any dangers, but the Knights of the Thorn must be ready."

And I told him what I could. How the gate spewed out daedra, seemingly endlessly. The wasteland of red inside, the dangers it held – pools of lava, the harrada, remembering with a wince Lucien hanging limp from the vines. The tower, the glowing beam in the center and the magicka it gave off, how it had all crumbled and come apart…

And by some small miracle, I did it all without breaking into sobs.

We'd looped back through the city towards the castle again by the time I'd finished my tale, him nodding, brow furrowed in thought. "Shock magic, then. If you'll prepare another batch of those poisons you did for the guard, my men can be outfitted, too."

"It would be my pleasure, my Lord." We'd come to a stop in the foyer now, just outside the main hall of the castle proper. I made a little curtsy, glancing up at his chuckle.

"You know – don't tell anyone, but _technically_…" A wicked smirk, like the ones he'd given me that night at the festival. "You outrank me, as a Marquess."

The tears I'd held back, stinging my eyes, abated. I giggled with him, shaking my head. "I ran from it all, though."

"Yes, but our titles follow us everywhere, no matter who we try to shape ourselves to be." I had only a moment to ponder that before he spoke again, in a murmur this time. "Ah – Father is entertaining someone. Visiting dignitary, it looks like." Up towards the throne stood two figures, curtsying low before turning back towards where we stood.

"I wouldn't want to interrupt."

"Then we'll part here, hm? I appreciate the information, Miss… I'm sorry, it's completely fled my mind…"

"_Dust?__"_

It wasn't him or I that spoke. The voice was silky, feminine, _familiar._

The world fell away under my feet. For a moment I could have sworn it was _her_ walking towards me, eyes wide in surprise, the stranger dressed in lace and finery…

No, not a stranger. Caramel curls and pale skin, a gloved hand over her lips and my mother's features, transported out of time to a younger face. I'd always taken after father, mostly, but she took after maman.

"...Anya?"

"_Dusty!"_ And it was Antoinetta beside her, Netta who practically pounced on me, crowing. "You got out! Oh, I was so _worried,_ and then _she_ came and we talked to the Count and –"

Lord Farwil cleared his throat, looking a mixture of puzzled and flustered at the sudden commotion. "Miss Dust, you said? – has a much lessened sentence, yes. Forgive me, Madame, I haven't…"

"My apologies - you must be Lord Farwil, yes? Your father mentioned you." I stood in a daze with Antoinetta dangling off me, watching Anya curtsy. "I am the Marquess De Toltette. Anya, if it pleases you, my Lord."

"Ah! And Miss Dust must be your sister, then." A polite smile, a bow in return. He took her hand as offered and kissed the back before righting himself, regarding the three of us. His words held true now – he was his title again, smooth and proper. "By your leave, ladies. I must speak to my father."

"Of course. Please, convey him my thanks for his hospitality. And thank you, as well."

"You are most welcome."

All the commotion fled, but I was still in shock. Anya turned to me with a sigh, smile fond and exasperated as I'd ever known it. Netta finally let me go just to frown, giving me a poke in the shoulder.

"_Well?_ Aren't you going to say hello to your sister?"

My sister – not like Antoinetta, but by birth, my sister I'd loved and hated and who must have, I realized then, lied to me all my life, waited expectantly. She took my hands as I searched for the words, swallowing hard and blinking back tears.

"I _hate_ you."

And I fell into her arms.

A musical sigh of a laugh. It never struck me so clearly before, just how much she sounded like maman. The sobs I'd been holding back finally broke through as she held me, shushing me like she had when we were children all those years ago.

Antoinetta fretted behind me, hopping foot to foot. "Oh, Dusty! Oh – _oh_, don't cry!" My face buried against Anya's shoulder, in her perfumed curls, I could only hear the whiskered grin that followed. "Alright, ladies, I know _exactly_ what we need. Let's go back to _my_ place, hm? There's a bottle of wine with our names on it."

Anya chuckled and parted us, keeping a hand on my shoulder and raising a brow. "What do you think, hm? Time to catch up on things?"

It was more an order than a request, anyway. But I nodded. We made way for the Sanctuary, and I found myself only too happy to have a drink or three.


	54. Chapter Fifty-Four

"Oh!"

The moment we entered the Sanctuary I found myself assaulted by a wall of fur, whimpers and desperate kisses. Anya and Antoinetta made space and watched, the former with brow raised, the latter giggling as I sputtered and tried to free myself.

"Luke! Lu – down, boy! Okay, okay, _yes_, I'm here!"

"Aww, he missed you!" Netta cooed, giving him a little smack on his wiggling rump as he ran in circles. "Telaendril was smart enough to bring him here for you. That's how I found out you'd gotten yourself arrested in the first place."

"I - Talos sake, Luke, let me breathe!" I finally staggered back to my feet, wiping drool from my face with my sleeve. Even crimson red his big, sad doggie eyes were impossible to resist. I pat him on the head with a sigh.

Anya tilted her head. "And when did you decide you were responsible enough to have what looks like a _Daedra_ for a pet?"

She must have meant it as a tease, or a question, but the room went cold. Netta looked at me with pursed lips, as though expecting me to burst into tears again. I sucked in a breath. Under my hand, Luke crooned.

"… Maman gave him to me."

It took her breath for a moment. She blinked, a hand over her chest. "… Before she…?"

"_After."_

An awkward silence. After a moment of squirming, Antoinetta broke it. "I," she declared, "Am going to get us that wine. Meet me in the kitchen, mmkay?"

She fled, leaving Anya and I to share our mutual grief. The silence between us felt thick, almost suffocating, weighted with history and memory. Even Luke seemed to grow somber, moving to sniff at the hem of Anya's skirts as she sighed, a hand over her belly.

I frowned, then felt my eyes widen as realization sparked. It had been so long since I'd seen her any other way – "You're pregnant? _Again?_"

"This will be number four." She laughed in her throat, rubbing the bump now. "I'm about – four, five months along? I do hope Madame Tucket is right and it's a girl, this time. I love my boys but the household is becoming something of a patriarchy, and that will never do."

"Madame Tucket?" I stiffened at the thought of my old governess. "She's not – she's not _here_, is she?"

"Hah! Oh, _gods_, no. Can you imagine what she'd think of all this? No, she's home keeping an eye on things. Perhaps I should have brought her along, though." A smirk somehow both wicked and genteel. "Just imagine the scolding you'd get, stealing a horse. The only woman who might keep you in line, hm? Even maman couldn't – "

She trailed off. Eyes closing for a moment before they flickered over again to meet mine. Another difference between us – I had papa's eyes, grey-blue. Hers were the beautiful near black of maman, glimmering in the candlelight.

"I came to – to pay my respects. To say my goodbyes. Monsieur Valtieri was kind enough to inform me by letter what had happened, and I thought I should be here. And to check on you, of course." A soft smile. "It sounds like you've been getting into plenty of trouble, _ma petit soeur_."

For a long moment I was silent, ignoring her tease. She'd known – she must have known nearly all our lives, what maman was, what she'd done. Luke nudged a cold nose under my hand and I pet him absentmindedly, chewing my lip. She'd known, and yet I'd never seen her question maman, never struggle with who she was like I had. She'd known and…

"Why didn't you ever tell me?"

"…Maman thought it was best you didn't know. That you wouldn't – that it would hurt you too much. You were always – more delicate. And you loved them so much…"

I leveled a glare on her, hackles raised. "And you didn't?"

"Of _course_ I did. I loved papa, and Falrung was always good to us." A low sigh. "We just – we… you didn't _know_, about what they'd done to maman, and you took it so hard when…"

She didn't have to say it. When they died, when they were taken from me. When our lives had changed forever. A flicker of understanding– I lifted my gaze back to hers, breath caught.

"You knew about them?" I'd only found out about papa's affair almost a teenager, but… "Back then?"

"I knew before she did. I didn't understand it, of course, but I told maman what I'd seen." Her smile was fixed now, gentle and weary and not really a smile at all. A curved line painted in rouge on a mask. "And when she met Toltette, when they began courting, I knew she'd leave papa in time. I just never thought…"

I'd never really considered it before. Anya had always seemed so accepting of everything that had happened, so smoothly adapting to their death, to life as a noble. And even now with maman gone, she was so elegantly composed. Because she'd known. She'd known _everything._

She inhaled through her nares, eyes drifting shut. For a brief moment, I hated her – how could she be so calm, so held together when I felt like I was splitting apart at every seam? Even knowing what she'd known, how did she stay so serene? It had always been that way. She was the sensible, dutiful daughter, I was the wild black sheep.

But her eyes opened and glimmered with tears, and any childish anger melted away.

"I'm sorry." It came out as a whisper.

"So am I, Dusty." Another embrace, tighter this time, laced taut like the binds of sisterhood that tied us together, no matter our differences. _"__Je t__'aime."_

"_Je t__'aime_, Anya."

"You two!" Speaking of sisters. Antoinetta stood with a hand on her hip, the other holding a bottle aloft and a pout on her lips. "I've been waiting for_eeever_! Come sit down, or Vicente will think I just borrowed his wine for _myself_!"

Anya chuckled, and I followed suit in spite of myself. A matter of minutes and we were seated in the kitchen, a basket of warm nutty rolls and chalices filled between Netta and I. Luke lay at my feet eating the occasional crumb, and I lay my head on the table to listen to my sisters, one old and one new, get to know each other. I shared my own story in fragments – what had happened these past months – but for the most part, I was content to listen.

"I do appreciate you keeping an eye out for Dust, Antoinetta. And I must thank you for teaching her bladework. It's rather difficult to imagine _her _with a dagger, though."

Mercifully I was allowed to sit out of the conversation, at least for now. I was tired, too tired to pipe up in my own defense.

"She keeps trying to _swing_ it like she's wielding a sword! That, or she takes forever concentrating. She moves good, though."

Besides, she wasn't wrong. I sniggered onto the wood, hooking fingers lazily around the stem of my goblet to drag it closer.

"Dusty and I used to attend dance lessons. I have to confess, it's the one place she's more graceful than me." A fond little laugh. She pat me on the top of the head. "Anything musical, really. I never did catch on to the lute like she did. Anything _else_and she was just hopeless. Proper manners and poise, history, how to address the court and build connections with the other Houses…"

"I got m'self out of prison, didn't I?" I grumbled, lifting myself up if only to take a sip of my steadily shrinking goblet.

"How_ did_ you manage that, anyway?" I heard the familiar smirk in Anya's voice, snappy and entertained. "Raise your skirt and show a little leg, flutter your lashes and all that?"

"_No!__"_ Indignant, but only for a moment. I muttered into my goblet. "… Thought about it."

"You always did like Dunmeri men. And yet…" She didn't need to say anything else. I scoffed and sculled another good gulp, handing it off to Netta to be refilled as she tittered.

"And _yet!_ Speaking of – what's our dear Lachance wielding, eh?" It was Netta's turn to tease, giving me a little pinch on the cheek until I hid my head again. "Shortsword, longsword, _claymore_…?"

"You know he uses a shortswo – " The meaning of her innuendo hit me and I sputtered, red in the face. _"Antoinetta!"_

"What! _You _nabbed him away, it's only fair you share the details." She bit her lip, giggling. "Is that how you got him, like she said? Did you _seduce_ him?"

I glared at her, snatching my goblet back. "He pursued _me,_ thank you." Images flashed by – that first drunken kiss, our first night together in that alcove as the rain drummed outside. Tumbling in the snow laughing, tearing away from him knowing how he'd used me…

I took another swig.

"I don't know _why._ I mean, I _love_ you, Dusty-doo, but you're…" She gestured towards me as I glowered.

"I'm_ what_, precisely?"

"_Well__…"_

"Hair chopped off like a boy…" It was Anya who spoke up, glancing at Netta who carried on.

"Frumpy robes. You look so _nice_ in your dress, you should wear it more often – "

"Dibella forbid she wear anything pretty."

"I _like_ pretty! It's just not practical for alchemy, and I don't like to be so wrapped up in ties and lace and corsets I can't _move_ – "

"And you always smell like dried herbs – _ooh!_ Maybe it was your aphrodisiac!" Antoinetta leered, practically sitting in my lap for how close she scooched her chair. "Is that how you seduced him? Or a love potion, maybe? Spill the secrets, _sister_!"

"I told you, he…" Well. I _had_ kissed him first. Still. I pushed away the wine, suddenly sour, and made a face. "… I thought maybe it meant something. But I don't know, anymore. He used me."

"What do you mean?" Anya frowned, eyes narrowing. Netta only looked away as I sat up.

"… After – after everything in Kvatch, in the swamp, we went to Leyawiin. He killed a man there." Warm blood pooling against my hands, the bitter scent of the necrotizing poison, my screams for help shattering the quiet night. "But he hid it from me. He used me as, as _bait,_ and used _my _poison to do it. He – the Captain – he was a good man."

"Phillida." The sheer ice of Antoinetta's voice gave me pause. I nodded, a shiver down my back at her inhale. "He's executed Family before. My Brother."

"He was – he helped me. He found me outside Kvatch, brought me to Bravil…"

"And if he'd known what you are, who you work for, he'd have killed you on the spot." The sentence slapped down sharp as a whip, her blue eyes suddenly fierce. "Any one of us. Me, her – " A point of her chin at Anya. "And you, too." Only now did her voice, her features soften again. "He deserved it."

I didn't agree, but I knew there'd be no changing her mind on that. Luke whined at my feet and I gave him a scratch, an excuse to avoid her gaze. "He still _used_ me."

"He was just doing what was best, Dusty, what any one of us would do."

"What was best for _him_." Bitterness crept in now, but Netta's voice stayed soft.

"He went after you in Kvatch, didn't he? He protected you. I think – I think he cares about you, Dusty." I bit back a wince. "And you're not even really _Family_, just a servant." Her eyes narrowed in thought for a moment, trailing to the side with brow furrowed.

Anya reached across the table to take my hand, giving a little squeeze. Her lips parted, but the scrape of wood interrupted her – Antoinetta had stood up, hands on the table, looking over us both.

"Right. I know exactly what you need to do. You'll come with me on a contract."

We both stared at her, the hilt of my goblet hitting the table with a thud. "You're joking."

"No, no! _Listen. _You'll come and help me, and then you can be one of us for _real!_ You can be protected, 'n _belong_ and everything, like I do! You'll see it's not so hard, not so scary."

"Out of the question."

"It'll be _easy!_ I've got the perfect one in mind - he's a right bastard, you won't even feel bad for him. We'll poison him and then you can be one of us, for real, you'll understand – "

"You're mad." Suddenly bitter and noxious, I shoved the wine away. "I'm not going to kill anyone, Netta."

A whine crept into her voice. "Just _listen!_ I know you don't like this stuff but if you just do it with me, so you're safe, you'll see – "

"No. It's not even worth _considering_." Gods _dammit_. I hugged myself tight for a moment, glaring at her. Then Anya's thoughtful murmur hit me, and my blood ran cold.

"Perhaps – perhaps it _is_ worth considering."

I yanked my hand from hers like it had burned, staring. "… Anya?"

"Maman never told you about her, about us, because she thought it was – safer. That it would hurt you too much, that you were better off uninvolved." She mulled on it, eyes narrowed, skimming slowly over the table as she went distant in thought. Finally, they flickered up to meet mine again. "But now you _are_ involved, for better or worse. And perhaps…"

"What are you saying, Anya?" No, she couldn't be asking me to do this, to even think of doing this. Antoinetta I could understand, but _Anya_…

She only sighed, dark eyes holding mine. "I worry about you, out here in Cyrodiil all alone. You'd be safer if you belonged, if you were really Family."

A chill, icewater down my back. "… You're not like me, are you? I'm a servant, but you're…"

"Not a Sister, not properly. Technically she outranks me." A soft laugh to Antoinetta, who only watched us both with arms crossed. "I'm a Broker, Dust. I keep things running smoothly, and I've known the Family in Jehenna all my life."

"But you've…" I swallowed hard. For just a moment, she looked away. Ashamed? Or just unwilling to see my face, how much this hurt to hear?

"… Politics in High Rock are, quite literally, cut-throat. I've done what I've had to, to protect me and mine. I haven't wielded the blade, no, but my hands _are _bloodied."

Court intrigues, rife with secrets, espionage and assassination. I'd always known that, but it had never really clicked that she would be part of it, too. All the breath left me in a gust like I'd taken a blow.

"We do what we have to. I just want to show you it's not as hard as it sounds, that's all." Netta's hand on my shoulder. I shrunk away.

"I won't." Two syllables spat out against the table. I could almost hear the frost around Antoinetta now, suddenly hard in her voice.

"I don't want to _make _you, Dusty."

"_Make_ me?" I stood up now, poor Luke scrambling away to crouch near Anya instead. Fists curled, chest tight as I leveled a scowl at Netta. She was – what, threatening me? How _dare_ she? "You – "

"The Five Tenets."

"What?" I'd seen the Plaques on the walls, of course, reading the most basic laws of the Brotherhood – to never kill or steal from Family, to hold their secrets close. "What do they have to do with this?"

"You heard your sister. I outrank you both." Her pointed chin raised high. "That's the third Tenet. 'Never disobey or refuse to carry out an order from a Dark Brotherhood superior.' So if I _order_ you…"

"So what?" Anya tried to intervene but I was quicker, snapping. "What if I refuse?"

Her voice was soft, but cold. I'd never seen her look so grave. "To do so is to invoke the Wrath of Sithis."

I froze. A voice, _Her _voice, crept through me bitter, breath-stopping cold.

"_A wraith – imbued with powers I shall give you, sweet daughter, you shall serve. You shall exact the Wrath of Sithis upon those who would dishonor his name, upon those who would offend me."_

The Wrath of Sithis, from a wraith of Sithis.

_Maman._

If I disobeyed, if I broke that Tenet outright. If like Lucien had warned me I forced his hand as Listener, and punishment fell on me…

I sank back into my chair.

"It's for your own good, Dusty." She was gentle again now, contrite if unwilling to back down. "Just trust us, okay? You'll see."

"I just want to make sure you're protected. That you have people around you who will take care of you, help you when you need it." Anya spoke softly, too. Always the calm, logical one, always practical. Luke left her, creeping back to rest his heavy head against my feet again. "I can't stay here forever, Dust. And we all need family."

Family. Maman's face, flickering between the one I'd known all my life and that twisted, howling visage.

What choice did I have?

I nodded.

Netta squealed in delight, reaching down to hug me, ignoring that I shrank away. "Yes! It'll be okay, I _promise_, it really will. Alright? Alright. You'll see! Just listen – here's the plan…"


	55. Chapter Fifty-Five

The world outside and I were at odds when I passed the city gates and headed Southeast. I was a spitting black storm crackling and rumbling inside but the sky above Cheydinhal was flawlessly blue. Not a cloud above me – even the flowers seemed to raise their heads upwards, cheered by a soft, warm breeze carrying their scent.

But none of these were the flowers I needed, not out here. The target – _my_ target, stomach roiling at the thought – called for something more unique. I winced, hearing in echo Netta and Anya in our planning days before.

"_He's a local skoomahound, throws these big parties for all the snooty types in the city. Then after the law-abiding types leave, he brings out the sugar for his friends. They want it to look like he died of an overdose."_

"_In that case, should we simply guide him into such an event?"_

"_Too chancey. He might live. We're professionals – we don't leave jobs half-done. No, it's got to be poison in the skooma. The problem is, it's hard t'spike skooma when it tastes so sweet. Anything bitter makes them think it's gone off or it's been tampered with. Any ideas, miss alchemist?"_

And to my shame, I knew exactly what to use. Something that would mimic the signs and death of a skooma overdose, and something he wouldn't detect even in the sweetness of his favoured drug.

So with Luke at my side I left the road, trailed off into the high grasses and nodding wildflowers. All bright and vivid in shades of cream and gold and smatterings of red on a lush canvas of green. Still my step didn't slow, not until puffs of violet caught my attention.

Rhododendron, playfully round save the softly pointed stamens poking out their noses from the hearts of the blooms, surrounded by laurels and holly bushes. The smells were heady, pleasantly dizzying. Slowly, the storm in my head died away.

I'd forgotten how much I loved this, how much I'd missed it these past months. Long walks through the dense forests, not just for reagents but for pure pleasure. The way the breeze made the grass seem like a green wave, the dappled spots of sunlight that reached down, shimmering and shifting. Though there was still a slight chill in the shadows, a final remnant of lingering winter, life had returned to these woods. Luke too seemed cheery out here, briefly disappearing past the trees, then back to my side, almost running in circles from his excitement.

Ultimately, though, I knew I had a job to do. Even finding these purple flowers wasn't enough – bitter, their poison would be detected in the skooma. No, nature presented an easier solution in the constant hum of fat bees, legs dusted with pollen.

Mad honey. The poison present in these flowers was taken by the bees to their hive, tainting their honey, making it nearly as lethal. It wouldn't often kill alone, but in tandem with the skooma, it would be more than enough for our – purposes.

"_Mad honey! That's brilliant, Dusty! See? You'd be so good at this!"_

I held my breath for a moment, pausing in place, willing Netta's voice out of my head. _Don't think about it. Just – concentrate. Focus on the task at hand._

Where there were bees, there had to be a hive. I followed them in ever-growing concentrations, Luke occasionally snapping at one that would alight on his nose. Yet – nothing. It made no sense, there had to be a hive. Where else would they all be going?

I caught a flicker of movement – another trail of them, buzzing and fluttering. Not up, towards the trees, but _down._

_What?_

I tested my footing on the slope and began to creep down the incline, digging my boots into the crumbling dirt. Yes – yes, there was an opening, small but definite, that they were flocking in and out of. A sort of grate at the bottom of the little hill, ornate rusted metal amidst white stone, peeking out of the grass. An Ayleid ruin, it had to be, but why would bees live in a ruin?

Either way, the hive had to be in there.

"There's got to be an entrance." I stood, Luke perking up at my words. "Somewhere, anyway. Come on, mutt, let's get looking for a way in." I started in circles around the grate, watching for the glare of white stone amidst green. Occasionally I'd catch glimpses, the rise of stone above the grass or embedded in the hillside, but always inaccessible.

Just my luck.

Suddenly Luke was on his paws, lurching ahead of me towards a river through the trees. I knew this one – it wound up to near the city gates, where I'd go to wash my laundry, but we were headed the opposite direction along it, Southbound. For the second time he was leading me on a chase, but this time I decided to give it a chance.

Cursing my slippery foothold on the ground and stumbling into trees, I gave chase.

The rush of the river grew louder, widening from a brook to a proper stream, reeds and bulrushes crowding around the mouth. Luke splashed through to the other side then stopped short and began to howl, sending nearby birds fluttering away in alarm.

"Dammit!" I clambered after him over the rocks in the river, growling when one of my feet managed to slip and sink beneath. Just a matter of time until it chafed, and the _unbearable_ squish of my now sodden boot_, this had better be worth it –_

As I came up behind him, I received a clod of dirt in the face for my trouble.

I sputtered through it, wiping it away and spitting out little bits of mud and blades of grass. "You overgrown, hind-sniffing, poor excuse for a – _oh."_ The trail of insults died on my tongue as I saw what he'd revealed. A door – what looked like a stone block from beneath a pile of fallen leaves and sifted dirt was actually an entrance, a small alcove that would lead into the ruins below.

I wasn't an adventurer. I met them sometimes, even heard some of their stories. They'd boast at the inn or my shop, buying potions for night vision, stamina, regaling me with tales of undead and traps and treasure. Seeking artifacts, hunting minotaurs and trolls for rare reagents – I'd always left those tasks to the better equipped, the stronger, the smarter. I was just a scholar, an alchemist. I belonged with my tomes and my cauldron, not slinking into underground ruins in search of poisons.

Then again, it seemed a lot of what I knew about myself had changed, these past months. Would_ keep_ changing.

Holding my breath I pushed against the door. It slid in the mud then ground against the stone floor inside, sunlight only revealing the first few feet of the hall beyond. It wasn't difficult to squeeze through even when the door jammed halfway, though poor Luke had more difficulty. After some negotiating we were both inside, staring down towards the end of a shadowed corridor.

I tapped my fingers in rhythm with a memory of a drum, summoning up an orb of light to illuminate the way. The light shimmered on ancient stone that seemed to hum, a soft rumble almost constant in the ambience around me. Dripping, too – distant droplets hitting stone, the squelch of my boots and Luke's claws clicking. All this noise, and yet the place was so silent. How long since it had been touched? Had an adventurer passed through here recently, or was I the first in centuries to descend?

All this sound, blending into the silence, but no buzzing. I walked on, rounding a corner and passing a little intersection where a sort of lamp shone, ancient crystals glistening within, emanating an eerie blue light. The bees had entered from North of where Luke had taken me – I made my way down that hall, almost holding my breath.

No sign of danger, thank all gods. The thought made me pause, then grimace. Thank the gods for _what?_ For putting me into the hands of murderers, making me consider becoming one of them? I felt my teeth clench, rotating my jaw as I realized I'd been holding it tight. Then – buzzing, yes. I was sure I heard buzzing now, a constant hum. Luke gave a low growl at my side, slowing his pace, but I ignored him and walked on. Served him right if he'd gotten stung on the nose before. Perhaps he'd learned his lesson.

My nose was tickled by new smells amid the staleness of the ruin, the sweet perfume of Rhododendrons almost as thick as outside. The buzzing hit a peak, constant now. I was close, I had to be –

Closer than I had thought.

I blinked in the sudden brightness of the next room, a wide space, alcoves filled with all manner of planters and pots. Some were truly elegant, carved and painted vases standing tall, others were makeshift circles of wood and rope or stone and grout, all of them boasting the violet plant. Above me magickal lights shimmered, fading and growing, mimicking real rays of sunlight. And in the center, where the bees flocked, were rows of apiaries. Manmade beehives, humming with activity.

Beekeeping, _here?_

"Why would _anyone_ – " I criss-crossed between the hives, bewildered, watching now as the grate that had led me here hummed with bees on their trips, back and forth to the apiaries. It was a magnificent project, but in the middle of a _ruin?_

_Why on Nirn, why would anyone…_

Luke's snarl brought me out of my thoughts, staring at where he stalked crouched and snapping towards the hallway. Was there – I pressed myself against the nearest wall, fumbling for my dirk knife. Something – an animal, crept in?

No – voices.

Luke charged out of sight towards the footsteps. Guttural words, a language I didn't recognize in a sharp rasp, then howling. My heart thudded painfully against my ribs, my grip white-knuckled around the blade. No, people. The people who had made this here? I winced at a pained snarl from the hound.

He needed me.

I rounded the corner, blade drawn. As I did, there was a scream – Luke had brought down one of the approaching strangers, jaws locked around her forearm. One leapt for me and the world came crashing down to the floor, a thick forearm jabbed under my throat, my head cracking against stone. Spots of light pinpricked in front of my eyes, ears ringing as I fought back, trying to bring my blade up and towards the stranger.

The stranger – I was the stranger to them. Intruding on their work. Guilt bubbled up hot in my chest, realization. "I don't want to fight! I don't – "

Then my head exploded in pain. There was movement – I didn't actually see it, but the man atop me must have punched me. I lay prone for a moment, blood welling in my mouth – then he was gone. I blinked in confusion and tried to sit upright, spitting up copper. Luke, Luke had tackled the man and had him now by the throat, prepared to rip it out entirely.

A hand in my hair, dragging me upwards. "Call off your beast!"

I gasped for air, vision blurring with pain and tears. One of them was listening – I could reason with them, I could still explain. "Luke! Off, boy! Leave him alone!"

A growl in response. Luke rose his head and glanced back at me, eyes near aglow with fury, before slowly stepping off the man. The man rose and clutched at his neck – bleeding freely, but mercifully intact. The hand in my hair dragged me further onto my shaky feet, then there was a blade at my throat.

"You are after the blessed honey."

"I – yes, yes, but I didn't know it _belonged_ to anyone." I tried to sound confident but humble, contrite and forgiving all at once. A misunderstanding, all of this was just a stupid _misunderstanding_. What soothed misunderstandings best? My fingers brushed the purse at my side. "I – I can pay you for a sample. I don't need much. Please, I didn't -"

Laughter. The dagger lowered from my throat to the purse, jabbing in and dragging downwards. Ripping, sharp snaps as the stitching and burlap tore, clattering as the Septims hit stone. "We don't need your two-faced gold. We don't need anything but the honey." Luke growled once more, moving into a position to pounce, then suddenly whining – frozen in place, joints locked, momentarily bright with a greenish glow. Paralyzation.

"_Luke!"_

"You two, tie it down. And you," I was roughly turned and slammed against a wall, head spinning. Now I could see their faces properly. The first was a Dunmer woman, staring sourly while clutching her bleeding arm, only reluctantly moving to bind my poor hound with her wounded partner as Luke uselessly struggled and snapped. The other was an Argonian, eyes a sharp yellow and pinned to me, as I was pinned to the wall. Yet no one held me there – only force did. Magicka, from his hand. He came in closer, giving a flicker of his tongue.

"How did you know about it?"

What were they _doing _here? Fellow alchemists, scholars studying the strange phenomena? "I followed the bees. I'm an alchemist, I don't mean any harm." I didn't dare struggle against his spell, wincing as ropes were lashed around Luke's forelegs in the corner of my eye. "I didn't realize that they were coming here, I didn't think anyone _owned _them. I mean, it makes no _sense_." I tried to reason with him, slumping against the wall, my words stumbling and stuttered. My head throbbed, something warm trickling down the back of my neck. "Y-you have to confess, as - as _brilliant_ as the idea is, having it here is_ mad."_

At that he leered, coming closer still. I could feel the wet heat of his breath, the tremble of it from his dark laughter. I could smell it – rancid and rank, stinking of foul meat, of blood. For a moment I thought of the traitor, hovering over me, breath wet with the same stench, wet with saliva and what remained of Lucien's eyes. I gagged, and what parts of me could tremble under the force of his spell did.

"You're more right than you know." He dragged his tongue along his teeth, eyes fixed on me. "We'll open your flesh, shatter your bones and spill your brains. All of those will be for Sheogorath. Your eyes…" I hissed, shrinking back as he raised a claw, bringing it to graze the delicate skin of my eyelid. "Those will be for _me."_

Sheogorath? Cultists, they were_ cultists_. Like those around the shrine but cruel, turned on me. I breathed raggedly, shaking my head, pressing myself against the wall harder still to avoid his touch. Sheogorath…

"Sheogorath! I've _spoken_ to Sheogorath!"

He paused. Even the two struggling with Luke as he thrashed stopped in their task to stare at me. The Argonian tilted his head downwards, all amusement lost. "Do not speak of things you don't understand. You lie and I'll chew your tongue down to gristle."

"No! It's true! In the swamps, near Leyawiin, I met him. I ran under his shrine and he spoke to me, I stayed with the cultists there until someone found me."

Luke, now tied, lay prone with teeth bared, not charging but snarling and vicious, just waiting for the command. The cultists stared.

"I can't smell it. There's too many other things. She smells like cities and plants and blood, I can't_ smell_ it." The Dunmer hissed while she glowered, lip curling. The man, an Imperial, only sneered and shook his head.

At last the Argonian spoke again. "And what did He say to you?"

"He said – " I wracked my aching brain to remember, spilling brains, _no don__'t think about that, concentrate_ – "He said I have colour to me, his spark. Th-that he's already inside me and I've already lost, but that we should play anyway. Please, I'm just here for the honey."

Silence save the sound of the hound's struggles, his quiet snarls. My own breathing filled up my head, louder and louder, hotter and hotter until I thought it might burst. Then laughter, rasping laughter from the Argonian. He slackened the magick binds enough that I could slump, muscles souring from being tensed so long, so hard.

"Bring her a taste."

_What?_ My head shot up in alarm. The woman rose and moved to one of the hives, bringing out something silvery and shifting there for a moment. Vision fading in and out in a blur, I couldn't properly see her actions, but I could guess. Fetching the honey, the honey I was supposed to _kill _a man with.

_No, no, no -_

She brought over a small spoonful, glittering gooey gold. In any other context, it would have looked delicious, but now my tongue curled and my teeth clenched at the thought of consuming it. Even that small amount – it wouldn't kill me, I knew that much, but with all these rhododendrons the honey would be potent and pure. Hallucinogenic, dangerous.

"Open wide."

My jaw wrenched open against my will, tongue pinned uselessly to the bottom of my mouth. More magicka, using my body against me like a tool. I weakly protested with a whine, but she didn't slow, spooning the honey into my mouth and onto my tongue as though feeding a stubborn child.

My jaw snapped shut, pinned once more. Suddenly her fingers clamped around my nose, blocking off air. A hiss. "Swallow it."

I fought for a moment, growling, but it was only seconds before my lungs burned for air. I swallowed. It stung going down, somehow bitter yet still masked by sweetness, singeing along my throat. Only when I'd forced it all down did the grip on my nose release, my jaw allowed to hang. I gasped for air, head spinning.

"Good. We'll see what happens." He sounded smug, backing off and surveying me with a tilt of his head. The woman only glared. "How do you feel?"

I blinked, sinking further as his magickal grip lessened to the point where I could almost move on my own. I would have if not for the throb of my skull, the tilting and whirling the world around me seemed to have taken on. My words came out thick and stupid, dully spoken. "I feel like I'm going to faint, actually."

I was right.

My head was a fermented melon, overripe, bursting and bruised, ready to explode with agony. I groaned, then stiffened, both hands making way to my face, searching. It – it really was. Where was my nose? My eyes, my lips? I couldn't speak without my lips, couldn't tell anyone the truth. _What _truth?

_You're drugged_, something rational in me whispered. _The mad honey, you're hallucinating._

Slowly my hands fell to my sides and I relaxed, resting the sore back of my head against cool stone. The world before me swam, a mess of shapes and shadows, smudged save pinpricks of light. I tried to follow them, to see what they were, but the moment I focused they flitted out of my vision. My hands were numb, tingling but numb. Lips, too. I stretched out my fingers one by one, ensuring they were all still in place.

"Sweet, isn't it? So sweet, the honey, Sheogorath's gift to us. If you spoke true before, I'm sure you'll enjoy the experience."

I could only moan in response, blinking grit out of my eyes. Honey and blood – such a strange combination to taste in my mouth, caked between my teeth. I poked at them with my tongue, trying to understand. The Argonian – yes, I remembered him. He knelt beside me, head tilted, and it only occurred to me then that he had taken my chin in hand.

"Your eyes are larger, your body heats and vibrates with the arrival of His wisdom." Signs of the mad honey – dilated pupils, feverishness, twitching. So similar to a skooma overdose, yes, that's why I'd needed it, I… "We haven't had a sister join us in a long time. I'd rather eat you. But I do as the Madgod bids me. Perhaps he'll let me have a taste. I still want your tongue."

My tongue – he was a cannibal, he had to be, threatening to eat me piece by piece. Mad, of course he was, he was a cultist, they_ all_ were. All of them – I became aware now of shapes around me, watching me with curious eyes. They seemed fuzzy around the edges, soft like the fluff of a honeybee, making me laugh aloud. Soft – where was Luke? Soft fur, sharp teeth, blood and honey.

_Dammit, focus!_

There were many of them, at least a dozen. The shapes bled together, but I could almost make out the sea of faces watching me.

"Luke," I tried to rise to my feet, only to sink back down. Another man at my side hushed me, coaxed me gently down. "Where's my doggie? 'S not mine, he belonged to my mother. But I need him."

"She's harmless now. If the beast behaves, fetch it." The Argonian rose from me, surveying me with those gold eyes. Gold, like the honey, how hadn't I _seen _it before? "You're an alchemist, you said."

I nodded slowly, biting my tongue to try and bring some sensation to it. To taste it for myself. What was the appeal? I tasted only copper now. "I make potions. I heal people, too."

"We could use a potion-maker, a healer." He clicked his own tongue. What would that taste like? Someone else made use of me recently. My skills, my work as a healer and alchemist. That's why I was here, wasn't it? I was going to kill somebody. _Me,_ harmless little Dusty, was going to kill someone.

I burst into another fit of mad giggles.

"You are from the city?"

I calmed and nodded. Someone – the man beside me, a Nord – was playing with my hair, lamenting that it wasn't longer. _Hair chopped off, like a boy._

"You'll be missed." He frowned for a moment. Who would miss me? Not my family, or my Family. Would they? But they'd wonder where I was. "Why haven't you accepted Sheogorath's gift?" He tilted his head again, tongue flickering. No, it wasn't flickering, but _buzzing_, his tongue was made of bees, didn't that _hurt?_

"I don't…" I tried to sober myself, slowly shaking my head. "I can't. Maybe someday. But I _can't_, I've got loyalties, he said I do. I have to stay. And I'm scared."

Laughter all around me.

"Why are you scared?" The Nord playing with my hair spoke, head tilting, eyes wide and curious. "It's okay! I'm not scared."

"It's the easiest thing in the world." The Argonian linked his hands, standing upright over me. His robes swam with movement now, too, blue and wet and busy with fish splashing in and out. He was going to get me wet, and I was so _thirsty_… "Just _ask_. Call for the damn dog."

I blinked, tongue outstretched towards his robe. Images flashed in my head – black fur, big red eyes, a tongue entirely too long and drooling. And there he was, moving through the crowd and past the screech of a metal gate to run to me, covering me in slobbering kisses and whimpering. I wrapped my arms around him tight, clinging.

"Lukey? _Oh,_ Luke. I'm sorry I've been cruel to you. You're here for me."

"Course I am, lass!"

Laughter once more. I stiffened and drew back from the hound, staring, unable to grasp what I was looking at. The body was Luke as I knew him, strong and lithe and sleek with black fur, but the head – a human head, an old, bearded man with golden eyes, tongue hanging out, cackling. The face of the stone statue in the swamps, made flesh. Laughter, so much laughter like the constant buzz of bees.

"L-_Luke?"_

"Not quite, lass." He tilted his head, absurd on the body of my hound. How – _why?_ Where was Luke if not here? "But ye'll get it next time, I bet! Just remember, lass, t'call for me when ye need me. I'll be sure to come."

Cheering, laughter, screaming. Too much, too much. I was in the center of the hive, slow and sticky with honey that burned, honey and blood the world spinning. I read once that bees danced to speak to one another, were they trying to speak to me? Trying to dance? Not the dances I'd learned as a girl, restrained and formal, but wild. I tried to rise to my feet and sank again, grasping at the wall for support. The dog laughed at me, too, mocking me, _damn_ him, damn the dog, damn it all why couldn't I _think…_

"You should sleep now." The man next to me spoke soothingly, softly, a voice that didn't belong in his strong body. "They take good care of me. Now I'll take care of you. We can play!"

Play, I've already lost, but playing anyway. I nodded slowly, eyes rolling, unable to fill my lungs with quite enough air. The Argonian's robe was flooding, drowning me, pulling me with an undertow into a black abyss. Truthfully, I was all too relieved to let go and sink into deep, peaceful darkness.


	56. Chapter Fifty-Six

"Look!"

"Shh – "

"_You_ shh!"

"She's waking up!"

From every direction, on every sense an assault came as I woke. First, the chattering all around me – barely contained whispers and giggles, a rumbling snore and the ambient echo of dripping on stone. The taste of blood and honey mingling in my mouth. Something warm and prickly, rising and falling against my cheek –

Luke. The cultists, the honey, the cackling – I jerked upright with a gasp, terrified that his head wouldn't be _his _head, that he would laugh at me again.

No – he lay sleeping, tongue lolling, round eyes flickering under his eyelids in dreams. I breathed a sigh of relief and stroked down his flank, squinting through bleary eyes at the blurry shapes before me.

"I like her doggie."

"I don't."

"Canines are known for carrying diseases – rabies, witbane, or worse, parasites. Fleas, ticks…"

I shut my eyes again a few moments longer, listening to the low whispers humming like the bees of my drugged visions. But, no - I was awake now, sober now, these past hours flooding back in. The ruin, the honey. The cultists, another buzz rising and falling.

"She pet me once. Under a fir tree."

"Nonsense."

"Maybe, maybe she'll let me play with her doggie!"

None of it made sense - of course it didn't. Still, a smile forced my stiff lips to curve. For the second time, I was awaking surrounded by madfolk. Still reeling I could almost laugh at the absurdity, at the turn my life had taken to bring me here.

… At least this time, I was still wearing _clothes._

"I'll go tell Blue." A sharp, nasally voice, brisk footsteps moving away. Roused now, I took in my surroundings. I was in – some sort of a cell, it looked like. A little alcove, the entrance sealed off by a gate of wrought metal, ornate in Ayleid design and silhouetted by those watching me. As I shifted, one shape on all fours scampered away. The other stayed, giving a giggle when I staggered to my feet.

"IlikeyourdoggiecanIpetyourdoggie?"

It was all a little much for my still sluggish brain. I blinked and stared, searching through those muddy scraps of memory. That voice – light and high-pitched, familiar. Yes, the man who'd played with my hair. He wore what seemed to be a makeshift dress, split down the middle of the chest to fit his impressive figure. He carried a bowl of water between his hands. I licked at my chapped lips, staring.

"Oh! You're thirsty. She said you'd be thirsty." He slid the bowl into an opening at the bottom of the cell's grate. Eagerly I scooped up the bowl and drank, rivulets running down my chin. I couldn't bring myself to care. Greedily I emptied the bowl, only thinking at the last minute to lower it and leave some for Luke.

"What's your name?"

It was strange – his voice sounded like it belonged to a little girl, not this bear of a man. "… Dust."

"Dust!" He giggled, tucking a thick golden braid behind his ear. "I'm Nura. Can I play with your doggie, now?"

I frowned, at a loss for words. "… H-hello, Nura." I glanced at Luke, half expecting him to offer up his opinion. "I suppose, but - can you let us out, first?"

"Oh! Yes." He knelt to try and pull up the grating from hooks on the other side. A moment of childlike straining and he pouted. "It's too heavy."

"Stand back, Nura." A woman's voice, tight and harsh. The Dunmer from before, her arm bandaged where Luke had bitten her. I winced at the sight of it, chewing my lip and backing towards the wall as she approached. She stared at me for a long moment, then the hound, nose twitching.

"He smells like death. If he touches me again, I'll kill him."

"He won't. He'll be good." I swallowed hard. Luke stood upright now, lapping at the water, but his eyes remained fixed on the Dunmer. His teeth bared in a brief snarl until I placed my hand on his back, silencing him.

"Fine. I know the scent of the truth." She bowed to bring up the grate, easily swinging it open and hooking it back into place. Why had the man in the dress struggled? "Get out here."

I stumbled out, limbs still stiff, Luke at my side. "I don't mean any harm. Truly, I don't. I'm just an alchemist here for a sample of the honey."

"Whatever." She waved away my excuses, stalking ahead through a short hall. "Come on. Don't drag your feet, I _hate_ the stench of waiting."

I was given no answers, not even time for questions as she led me through the winged corridors of the ruin. Nura fell in step not far from Luke, giggling and playing at snatching his tail, always pulling his hand back at the last moment.

The ruin was massive, full of nooks and alcoves – and residents. Curious cultists, the footsteps behind us multiplying as others joined our little march. I dared a glance back, a cold tingle down my spine at the silhouettes behind us that seemed to have simply formed out of the flickering shadows, whispering, laughing.

"She looks plain. Nothing to hide."

"You idiot, those ones have _everything_ to hide!"

"Madgod have mercy, you're right. What do you think?"

I strained my ears, wanting to catch exactly what conspiracies I might unknowingly have born, but then –

"_Oh!"_

The hall opened up, flared arches soaring to a ceiling supported by pillars high in the air, vanishing in the darkness above lit only by sparkles of blue light and refractions of the pool beneath it. A grand pool, framed by carvings in the stone around the lip – perhaps once some sort of magnificent bathing room for the Ayleid. Once – now, it was a place these people called home.

Colourful banners and torn blankets hung around the ridges of the pool, more scattered with chairs and cushions. Well, 'chairs' could only be used loosely. Baskets, earthenware jars, crates – all manner of discarded and forgotten containers had been repurposed as furniture, decorated with dried flowers and green branches making this massive space feel somehow almost cozy.

A people living outside of civilization, society, building a little world all their own. So very different from and yet so very similar to the smoke-stained halls and hanging black and red banners of the Brotherhood. A sanctuary, a haven, a cult.

"You will wait here." The Dunmer strode forward until her foot hit the tip of a carpet, pointing at the cushions there. At my hesitance she paused, head raising, nares flaring as though inhaling my fear for a long moment before she gave a sigh. "… You will not be hurt."

I let the apprehension in my chest soften, just a little. Of course, I couldn't be certain of her word – but if they wanted to hurt me, kill me, they would have done it while I was drugged. A moment longer and I nodded, sinking to the floor with Luke settling his head in my lap. "… Thank you."

I was alone, yet not alone at all. Ignored, yes, but all around me the cultists resumed their day. One seemed to be leading some little song and dance, making the people around him clap and laugh aloud. Another, tall and thin, was scrubbing furiously at one of the ancient statues. And now the Nord who called himself Nura snuck up to me again, practically wriggling with excitement and impatience.

"_Now _can I play with your doggie?"

Attacked as an intruder, forced to take the drugged honey, the cultists had seemed terrifying. In my hallucinations, ethereal. But now…

Maybe it was my experiences at the shrine. Maybe it was how childlike he seemed, how harmless. Maybe – maybe I just wanted to trust, for once, someone's word. But I felt a smile, inside and out, and let it show.

"Well, you'll have to ask him."

A gasp. His gaze flew down to Luke, who opened one lazy eye as he knelt and lowered his head. "Will you, puppy? Pretty, pretty please?"

Luke snorted, stretching as he stood, then gave playful chase as the cultist – man, child? Ran and screamed and laughed in pure delight.

… _What now?_

I squeezed my eyes shut. Now, I'd – I'd negotiate for my freedom. They said they wouldn't hurt me, and I remembered faintly from the drugged haze that the Argonian said I'd be missed. But I still needed the honey. I couldn't leave empty-handed, after all.

_Why not?_ A voice at the back of my head spoke up, sharp, insistent. _Why should you listen to them?_ Now Anya and Netta's voices rang in my head, making me wince. _The Five Tenets. You'd be safer if you belonged, if you were really Family._

And now, I found myself among these people who embraced the role of outcast.

"Do you remember me?"

I startled out of my reverie, staring at the woman who'd approached. I recognized her, if only by voice. The soft-spoken woman outside my cell, who'd scurried off when I stood. Covered head to feet in furs stitched together, coated with dirt, she hid in the shadow of her cowl crouched on all fours, waiting for my answer.

"You – you were there when I woke up, weren't you?"

She shook her head. On either side of her head long, matted ears from a hare's hide swung in turn. "From before, in cold-before-cold. You pet me."

I bit back a sigh. What did I expect from madfolk? "I'm sorry, I don't."

"There was a fir tree. You had mushrooms." She spoke haltingly, as though so many words at once presented a challenge for her. I frowned, a tingle trickling down the nape of my neck. "You pet me. A dark man came. I ran."

It had been so long ago – autumn, not months after I'd first been pulled into this world. Before my shop, before the traitor. Before maman had been made Listener, before she had died. But now, the memory came through clear – that crisp fall day in the woods picking mushrooms, I let my caught breath shudder out, shaking my head. "…You can't_ possibly_ know that."

A scrabble of movement – Luke returned panting and the woman – the rabbit? – fled in a flurry, Nura puffing and red-faced, but gleeful.

"Your doggie is good at chasing!"

"I'm glad." I watched as he sat cross-legged on the floor where Luke lay, humming to himself and picking up discarded toys from where they sat on the rug, dancing them along his back as a giant, furry mountain. Like a child in the frame of a grown man. Was this his gift, Sheogorath's blessing? _Why?_

"I want to play with my dolls now." Either hand held a little straw dollie, comically small in his hands. "You can have this one." He thrust one forward and I gingerly accepted, examining it. Straw had been bent and woven into the shape of a woman wearing a skirt, hair plaited atop her head, a placid smile painted on her face. I turned her in my hand, a smile growing in spite of myself.

"I had a doll like this, when I was a girl." Before it had been burned with the rest of our possessions when papa and Falrung died, when maman remarried. My straw doll was replaced by one of porcelain that I wasn't allowed to play with, for fear I'd break it and cut myself.

"Her name's Charlotte. She's a Breton." He spoke with the definitive certainty of any child, showing me the doll he still held. "Her name is Greta. Your name is Dust, my name is Nura!" He beamed at having named us all, then frowned at Luke. "What's your doggie's name?"

I scratched behind his ear, frowning. "… Luke."

Again, that factual attitude only a child could have, somehow in a grown man. He frowned, too, brow knotting. "That's not a very good doggie name."

"I named him after a bas…" I stopped myself from cursing, but there was no other word I could use that would describe everything Lucien was to me. A friend, a lover, a keeper and a threat. "… Someone I know."

"You could change his name." He tilted his head, hair falling. "Call him Snuffles. That's what I'd call him."

Luke whined. I laughed but shook my head, stroking down his brow as his eyes drifted shut again. "That's a good name, but his name is Luke now. For better or for worse." Names were important. I knew that all too well, myself. I paused, turning my gaze back onto the Nord. "… Who named you, Nura?"

"Da did!" He brightened up, now toying with the dollie, leading it to walk a path up and down Luke's back. "Blue found me, a long time ago. Me and my da. We were outside, in those woods." He pointed upwards, above the buried ruin. Was it dark or light out there, now? How long had I been down here? "We was hurt. Da was hurt, real bad." His face fell. "They gave us the honey to make us better, but he died. So they adopted me. I live here, now. I like it here. Will you stay, too?"

I listened intently to his story, trying to make sense of it. He and his father? And who was Blue? His question caught me off-guard, leaving me blinking. "I…"

Could I? Nobody would know where I'd gone. I'd simply disappear, out of Cheydinhal, off the face of Nirn and into its depths. Stay here, with madfolk? Abandon everything I knew to live among outcasts and misfits?

…Stay here where I wouldn't have to kill a man to survive, where I could escape the life I'd inherited?

Luke groaned, turning his head in my lap to lick my hand.

"I – I don't know. I don't think so." I offered the best smile I could manage, though he pouted in return. "I have – "

"Loyalties. You said as much."

I jumped to my feet now, meeting the familiar golden eyes of the Argonian. But it wasn't him who spoke – instead another woman at his side. A Redguard voice low and dulcet as the contents of the jar she held. She was strikingly beautiful, dark eyes and high cheekbones, yellow beads in her hair –

Except they_ weren't_ beads. Gossamer wings fluttered, jewel yellow bees fluttering around the thick mane of her hair, docile and loyal as drones to their queen.

"… You made the apiary, didn't you?"

"I did." Her eyes crinkled in amusement, gaze keen enough to make me squirm. "And you, my sticky-fingered friend – what interest do you have in my honey, hm?"

"I – I need it for..." I swallowed, searching for some clever lie I could give, lamely finishing. "… A potion." I set my jaw and pushed away the guilt. "But I have so many questions. Who are you people? Why are you _here,_ why the honey, why – "

"One at a time." She shushed me with a raised finger, glancing at the Argonian who rolled his eyes. "First – I am Niyaneh."

"And I am Blue-Scales-Shining." The 'Blue' from Nura's story, then. "I lead this little herd in our pursuit of the Madgod's vision."

"And we're here because when we couldn't fit out _there_, we carved out our own place to belong." In contrast to the Argonian's impatience, Niyaneh spoke gently. "The honey is one of my creations. Do you remember what it told you?"

I pursed my lips tight and searched through that cloudy haze of memory. "… Call the damn dog?"

"I told you she could be taught." The woman grinned as Blue-Scales-Shining scoffed, tail lashing. "Not all from the University have such closed minds."

I stiffened. "How do you know I went to the University?"

Blue snorted. "Please, you _stink _of it. Shallow minds grooming shallow minds, trapping you all in a recursive loop of ignorance."

"And we would know." A lopsided smirk between the two told me all I needed to know. Before I could press – gods, I had so much to _ask,_ there was so much I didn't understand – the Argonian had turned tail, striding off. I turned to give Nura back his doll, but he only beamed and shook his head, giggling when Niyaneh crooked her arm into mine.

"You can keep her. She'll be your new friend."

The Redguard led me away now, at last answering at least one of my many unspoken questions. "Blue and I tired of the restrictions imposed by the University. Our potential was – limited, in such a place. We were both drawn to the gifts of the Madgod, and sought a place we could call our own. We found it here, and soon others flocked to join us."

The gifts of the Madgod. I chewed my lip, glancing back over my shoulder – the rabbit woman was crouched lapping at the water's edge, Nura splashing and waving goodbye to the 'doggie' when Luke followed our stride.

"The gifts…" An echo of memory, buzzing with mosquitoes and the voices of the madfolk at the shrine. "Blessed are the addicts?"

"Exactly."

"Is that – all you study? Addictive substances?" Little wonder she left the school. They never would have approved such studies – cures, yes, but not the creation of such things.

"For the most part. Call it a passion project." A smirk curved her lips, and I felt a flicker of – something, through my throat, into my gut. Jealousy? She'd left behind the University, the city, civilization and morals to do what she loved, while I felt more bound with every passing day. "Difficult to get materials and maintain scientific rigor out here, but one does what one can."

Blessings. I paused behind her for a moment, patting Luke's head in a search for comfort. Call the damn dog, don't be scared, _dammit_, what did it mean? If I had some – connection with the Madgod, what was I meant to do about it? Did I even want it? I could understand the gifts of creativity and imagination, but his other offerings…

"… What sort of blessing does Nura have?" I probed as gently and politely as I could, trying to make sense of it.

Niyaneh nodded approvingly, as though I'd asked the right question. "Did she tell you how she came to us?"

She, then? I nodded, blinking. "He – she – Nura said that she was found with her father in the woods, injured. That he died after eating the honey, and you adopted her."

She laughed softly, shaking her head. "It's true, but not how you might think. The little girl's body died, and so the father's spirit died with it. I gave him my honey, opened his mind to the Madgod. Sheogorath brought them together into one."

I could only stare. "… So – Nura, the girl, is in her _father's_ body? And she doesn't know it?"

"She never will. She is eternally the child she was before death. Sheogorath heard the cries of her father after he took my honey, as he held her limp body. He said he would trade _anything_ for her to live on." A sad smile. "Our Lord had mercy on them both."

"Mercy," I whispered, eyes wide. Was that mercy? It was true, the father's wish had been granted. The little girl lived on, blissfully unaware. For all the strangeness of it, it did make a terrible kind of sense. However terrible, it was still a kindness that Nura lived on.

… Mercy. I remembered Sheogorath's voice in my head at the shrine, echoed now as Niyaneh murmured. "Madness is a bitter mercy, but a mercy nonetheless."

Sheogorath offered mercy, however twisted. Was there room for mercy in the eyes of the Night Mother? I accepted the jar of honey from her hands as if it might scald me, but she didn't let go right away, grip locked over mine as her gaze did the same.

"He's seen something in you, hasn't He? You told the truth, when you said He spoke to you."

I bit back a bitter laugh. "… It hardly matters." After all, what else could I do but what I was bidden, commanded? If I disobeyed, I'd be killed. And maybe – maybe _that,_ I could have accepted, but the image that haunted me still from that storming night, kneeling at the feet of my mother and hers…

"Of course it matters. You could stay with us." She tilted her head, the bees flitting along her arms, one humming around my head. "You're an alchemist, aren't you? We could work together. Pursue your studies out of the public's eye. Away from judgment, rules and demands."

A disbelieving laugh left me. "I can't just – up and vanish." Could I? No, of course not. Just the idea was – well, _mad._

She scrutinized me for a long moment, then her smile softened. "… You could, I think. But you don't want to. Something holds you back."

My gaze fell to my feet. Something, yes. Something like a threat to my life, a punishment that would be delivered by a hand all too willing. But it wasn't just that bitterness tying me down.

"…You must have given up everything." I blinked back tears now. "Your home, your status, your family, all to be here."

It sounded so tempting, so frightening. So lonely. I thought of Antoinetta and Anya, of Lucien. Of maman.

Of everyone who wanted the best for me, for me to make the best of what I had. For my own good, because they _cared _for me.

"Here, I'm free." Her gaze turned to me once more. I squirmed under it, uncomfortable, uneasy, uncertain, so uncertain. "Are you free out there?"

I didn't have to answer. My silence screamed it out for me.

At last she let go of the jar, letting me step back. "Remember what you learned here, mn?" A crooked smile, dark eyes lidded. "In exchange for the honey, Blue wants you to return monthly, act as our healer should anyone fall ill or injured. But I think you'll be back, anyway."

"I…" I hesitated. To come back here, where I'd been attacked? Yet when I tasted their madness, proved myself trustworthy, they accepted me. And hadn't the Madgod himself spoken to me? A light in the dark. Was _this _what Sheogorath offered me? I could escape here, for a short time. Away from my loyalties and responsibilities, from blood and death. A place of colour like the shrine had been, even if my life became one that brought…

"If you get tired of doing what you're told – if this," she nodded to the jar, "doesn't work out the way I suspect you need it to, you're welcome to return to us."

I swallowed hard, lowering the jar into my satchel beside the little doll Nura had given me.

I knew then that I would be back here. Even without the deal I'd made, I would return.

"… Thank you." I adjusted the bag on my back and ran my hand down Luke's back, earning a little croon from him. "Okay, boy. Let's head home."

I was led out the way I'd come in, the door shut behind me, instructions left to cover it back up with leaves and mulch. I obeyed despite the late hour, shivering as the spring day fell cool enough that the last remnants of winter shuddered through. Only when I was certain it was hidden again did I return to the road, to the city, noting landmarks so I could find my way back. Night had long fallen – I must have been underground the entire day. It was difficult to navigate in the dark, but once I was far enough away from the ruin I let my little orb of light and Luke guide me again.

I paused outside the city gates. I could run back – run, go with them and be their healer. Choose to be theirs, instead of being forced in because of my mother's work, or because of a threat to my life. They were harsh and strange and mad, but once I'd tasted their madness, they accepted me willingly.

…Anya would be worried _sick._

I sighed and took a moment to soothe the pain from the blow at the back of my skull, the throb of my jaw, leaving me even more exhausted. I wanted to sleep, fall into bed and never move again. No, I wanted to _eat_, empty an entire pot of stew and ask for seconds. I wanted both at once, and both cravings led me stumbling home, Luke glued to my side.

My door was unlocked. I blinked under the glare of candlelight when I walked in, suddenly assaulted – Anya, wrapping her arms around me and squeezing me tight. "Where have you _been!?_ Oh, look at you, you're in a in _state._ And your head! You're hurt, let me see – "

Shit. "I – I found the honey I needed…"

"And that took the entire day? Look at you!" A low sigh as she closed in and inspected me, lips pursed tight. "You're filthy, you're – " A sharp little gasp as she noticed the bruise on my cheek. "Dust!"

Shit, _shit._ _I should have thought of an excuse – I can't tell her about them._ I parted my lips but couldn't find the words, watching as Luke slunk off to find a place by the fire. Inside, wishing I could do the same.

"I – I tripped over a root, like an _idiot,_ into a pit." The best lie I could think of, on the spot. "It took me a long time to get back out, a, a hunter helped me – "

Anya's scathing glare was enough to silence me. A moment and she drew herself up, shoulders set. "You were a terrible liar before and you're hardly better now. You look like you were attacked."

"Don't be ridiculous. Anyway, I'm _fine_, and I have…" A shudder. "… I have what we need. I'll get to work on preparing it tomorrow morning." And the party would follow, that evening.

The party, and then…

"Dust." Firm and chastising as ever the way she said my name, then a sigh both exasperated and affectionate. "…I just want you to be _safe._ What's best for you, that's all."

Anger ripped through me with a scowl, whipping like a red-hot chain as I snapped. "If only you could all recognize that I might know what's best for me, _myself. _If you would just stop _mothering _me - "

"I'm not trying to mother you, I just – "

"Good, because you're _not her_. Get out."

I'd hurt her. It was subtle, the way she drew back, the hesitation in her eyes, but it was there. I pulled away.

"_Goodnight_, Anya."

I didn't bother waiting for a reply, trudging upstairs with Luke in my wake. She didn't move to stop me again. Without even bothering to wash or change I dropped my satchel and collapsed, Luke clambering in beside me as tried to process the madness, the possibilities of the day.

The cultists – they'd rejected safety, society, law. They'd made for themselves a place to call home, a place to be free, no matter the ties they had to cut. No matter what other people thought, for better or for worse. They answered to no one.

More and more, it felt like I answered to everyone but myself. Out of loyalty, or love, or just plain cowardice.

At least – at least I'd found the madfolk, been accepted by them. A strange thing to be grateful for, but it was comforting to know they were there, just outside the city. My time at the Shrine had been – messy, but healing. They, too, had been kind to me. They welcomed me for _me._

And if I still tasted honey as I drifted to sleep, maybe that wasn't such a bad thing.


	57. Chapter Fifty-Seven

Hi, folks! I'm so sorry I vanished last week - ended up with a nasty cold and by the time I resurfaced, it was Saturday and I'd waaay missed upload day. Things might get a little more sporadic with the new chapters needing more in-progress tweaking and work being a bit crazy, but I do want to keep publishing at least semi-regularly. Thank you guys so, so much for reading - as always, your kind words and patience amazes me and keeps my heart warm even in freeze-your-toes-off Canadian winter.

Oh, and psst: my version of this story on another fanfiction site with the initials AO3 has a special surprise, a drawing of Dust's dress that I unfortunately can't add here! No links or pictures, sadly. If you're interested, you should be able to find me there under the same name as here. ;)

* * *

I held a sheet of honey-gold in my hands, for a moment marvelling at it, trying not to think about the end I was working towards. It was remarkably beautiful, like the stained glass in the windows of the chapel. Part of me wanted to bring it upstairs, see the golden sheen it would cast with sunlight beaming through, but I didn't dare expose it now, finally ready.

Boiled and caramelized, then poured, the poisonous honey was now brittle as glass. Moreso – just grinding down my pestle was enough to reduce it to a yellow-red powder, tiny crystals clinging to my gloves.

Pure, potent, sweet and deadly. While the raw honey would have sunk to the bottom of the skooma, this would blend seamlessly into the drug. During the after-party, when more reputable guests would leave and the skooma would come out, Antoinetta would cause a distraction. I'd simply keep the vial handy, pour out the powder into his goblet, and…

_Can I really do this?_

I paused in my work, swallowing hard and remembering what Antoinetta had told me about our 'target'. Voranil, an Altmer hosting 'exclusive' parties where only the best and brightest of Cheydinhal gathered to discuss politics, history, art over fine foods and finer wine. But there were other guests, too. The Orum Gang, for one – a skooma peddling group of Orcs, undoubtedly Voranil's supplier. After the nobles and academics left, Voranil would get his fix and relax with his real friends, outside of pretense and through a sweet haze. At least, this was what she'd told me.

The snobbish, haughty condescension of a noble was just an act. Behind it he was a lecher and an addict, regularly beating his servants bloody in a drugged frenzy. Likely it was they who had saved up for years to 'commission' the Brotherhood, so much gold for a little blood spilled, a little sweet justice.

He deserved it. She told me so, over and over when I seemed hesitant. Not only would I be serving the Brotherhood, pleasing Sithis, but I'd be ridding Cheydinhal of a pest for good. 'Think of it like poisoning a rat', she brightly told me yesterday.

_But what about the next time, or the next? Can I turn back, after this? Can I even turn back now? _Niyaneh's offer, her dulcet voice echoing in my head with the hum of her bees, tempted even now. But...

The powder swept into a vial, I knew the answer. Whatever my excuses – my loyalties, the demands made of me, the lack of other choices – ultimately it came down to my own fear. And I was afraid. Afraid to defy the order I'd been given.

No – no, that wasn't it. I didn't want to die, but I might have been willing for the life of another, if it were some faceless spirit that would kill me. But it would be my mother. I knew, painfully well, that if I disobeyed the last face I'd see would be hers.

"Is it done?"

I gave her my wordless answer, lifting the vial to the light to catch in glimmering pinpricks before stowing it away. She gave a low sigh, shaking her head and looking over my workspace.

"It almost reminds me of papa's laboratory, all those years ago. But even he followed formulas. You make your own." A small, tight smile. Bitterness unleashed in me, lashing and snapping. I swallowed hard.

"… Papa would never make something like this."

Her eyes softened. She reached for me, a hand on my shoulder as I turned from her. "Papa never had to face what you have. You're just protecting yourself, Dust. If you're one of them…"

If I was a Sister, I'd always have people I could rely on. A home to return to. Antoinetta's lessons wouldn't just be for self defense. They'd be…

"What if I'm asked to do it again? What if I'm _commanded_ to?"

"We'll face that when we come to it. Right now – it doesn't seem like there's much choice, regardless. Right now you're bound by their laws, but without their protection. It – I think it makes sense for you to have both, since you can't have neither. I know it sounds – _horrible_, but…"

"But maman did it." _You did it._

"… Yes."

I'd stripped off my equipment piece by piece – gloves, mask, washing out my tools and scrubbing off my table. By now it was all pristine again, and I could delay the inevitable no longer.

With my work done we left. I shooed Luke to the hearth with a bowl of chopped-up venison and a blanket to lay on. I doubted being what he was he even _needed_ to eat but he certainly enjoyed it, and I had to admit to myself that since the ruin, I'd started to appreciate him more.

Locking up, we made way for the Sanctuary. The roads were green and brown now instead of grey, muddied and streaked from the wet spring grasses as the last stubborn snowdrifts melted away. Wildflowers crested over the green, violet and yellows and pastel blues. The afternoon sky held a promise of a clear evening, and more gentle days to come.

We walked in silence, her carrying her own share of today's work. Dresses – one for herself, of course, and one for me. With her silver tongue we'd slip into the party as 'old friends', nobility that he'd be unlikely to turn away. We needed to look the part.

"There you are!" Antoinetta tittered like one of the spring sparrows outside, giggling and gesturing for us to follow behind her. "Ocheeva gave us permission to have the bathing room to ourselves for a bit. Let's get all prettied up, shall we, ladies?"

In too short a time the room was fragrant with bathwater and oils, steam and lilac. We acted as handmaids to each other, brushing hair, buffing nails, tying laces and teasing as only sisters could. A chance to breathe, to pretend everything was fine before…

To pretend.

For now I held Anya's damp locks in hand, combing them silky smooth where she sat in her chemise. A gentle chuckle.

"Just like old times, hm? When we'd have important guests, or possible suitors. Remember the Abalore twins?"

"_Yes.__"_ She snickered at my deadpan, tilting her head so I could reach better. Soon her caramel curls were mostly dry and perfectly smooth, cascading down her back in a wave. "Slimy little shits with those ugly little wisps they called _moustaches_. They were so proud of them."

"And do you also remember the time you dyed their moustaches _green_?"

Antoinetta gasped behind me, then burst into a fit of giggles before returning to her focus on the bronzed mirror, painting her lips and smacking them together. I let myself grin for a moment, let myself enjoy the distraction from what lay ahead. "Well, they shouldn't have left the wax unguarded. Good times."

"Poor papa nearly had a heart attack."

Not the papa I knew, but stepfather. And yet, the thought of him no longer made me angry, even knowing what he'd done. Even knowing it was his request that made maman do the unthinkable.

Would I be any better?

"How is Toltette?"

"… Not well. Since maman told him everything, he hasn't been the same. Phillippe and I have been taking over much of his work, so he can rest, but the way he looks – I honestly don't expect him to recover."

Nothing. No satisfaction, no grief. Just a flicker of pity and worry for Anya, who would inherit the land, the manor and all the responsibilities the House Name would bring. I let her hair go and stood back, biting down on a sigh. "… I'm sorry – "

"There!" Antoinetta interrupted, whirling to sashay over with a beam and a flutter of her lashes. "How do I look, ladies? Not too much lip stain?"

I hadn't the faintest clue where she'd found it, but she did look lovely in her dress. All aglow in rose and coral, golden curls bouncing. In spite of myself, I smiled. "You look lovely."

"You're damned _right_ I do." A wink. "Alright – Anya, why don't you dress and I'll get a start on taming what this one calls _hair_ – "

"Hey!"

Soon enough it was only me still in my chemise, Anya elegant in soft violet lined with gold. I bit my tongue for a moment, dreading opening the lacy abomination I'd be forced into like I had as a girl. _Ugh._ Probably puffed sleeves and corsets and entirely too much _pink_ –

But what I pulled from the package wasn't pink, but the gentlest of ocean blues. No lace in sight, only smooth, heavy-sliding silk spilling into my palms, hems lined with silver. My breath caught.

"Anya…"

"A little more grown up than the old ones you used to have to wear, hm?"

A low neckline baring my collarbone, pretty sleeves that ended at the crook of my arms in draping curves. No tulle, no bows. Not pretty but elegant, framing my shape. Antoinetta stepped forward as I smoothed it down, her giving a little sigh of appreciation. I gawked at Anya.

"This must have cost you a fortune."

"_Exactly_. So don't you dare wear it while making your potions." Quick as a whip and dry as a bone her reply. "Pestlehumper."

Netta snickered as I rolled my eyes. "I thought we were supposed to be _noble ladies_."

"I'm your sister, first. Hence, I reserve the right to pick on you."

"Me and everyone, you slavedriver. I bet your poor husband is _relieved _you're gone."

"At least I _have_ a husband."

"Control freak."

"_Spinster."_

"Sithis, you two are worse than _my_ Sisters!"

"Only out of love." A moment of warmth as Anya grinned back at me, then stood. "Which reminds me – there's one more thing." Netta and I both watched with a frown as she pulled a little box out from her travel chest, giving me a wicked smirk. "Close your eyes."

"I do _not_ trust you."

"Don't be like that, sister dearest. Antoinetta?"

"I – " I scoffed as her hands came over my eyes, but didn't fight. The soft padding of her silk shoes against the stone floor, a shiver down my back at sudden cold tracing around my neck. A gasp and Netta's hands moved away, letting me look down and stare.

Delicate, tiny silver and jewels in little more than a thread, circled around my throat and then falling in a line down my chest, studded with sapphires. Beautiful and fine and entirely too elegant for my scrawny neck. I fingered the draping jewels down to my neckline, letting out a shivering sigh.

"Anya, it's _beautiful_. Where did you…?"

"I brought it from High Rock." Her arms fell away now with the necklace linked, Antoinetta moving to busy herself with her final touches. "I had it made ages ago, actually."

"_Why?"_ I swallowed hard, intensely aware of it now resting cool against bare skin.

"Well, when you had that man in your life, at the University? The Dunmer?" The memory seemed so far away, replaced now with visions of him that final night together - standing above me with the bloodied dagger, cutting the ropes with the same blade, fleeing the burning barn on horseback. "The way you wrote about him - I thought for sure you were _finally_ going to get married, so I had it commissioned for an engagement gift, for when he popped the question. I was going to visit, to start – _gently reminding you_ to hint at marriage, but then…"

She didn't need to continue. I knew what she meant. Then, Bolor vanished. _I _vanished. Then, everything I thought I knew.

"… Things didn't work out that way. But that doesn't mean it's going badly." A sigh and she stepped away, surveying her work, surveying me. "You've made it this far. You've got a little shop, a lovely home, a handsome man in spite of yourself." A flicker of a smirk. "Despite everything, you're here. Like maman used to say. Sometimes, you just…"

"…Make the best of it," I finished, my throat tight. "It's beautiful." I traced along the finespun chain, managing a smile for her. "I'd – I'll wear it. If I ever do get married, I mean."

"You had better, because – and I say this only with love – I will literally _strangle _you with it if you don't."

We hugged tight enough to hurt for a long moment. Antoinetta interrupted, practically waving her arms as she pranced about, chittering like a sparrow on a twig.

"Alright, this is all very lovely, _can we go now_. We've got to get to work, and besides there's going to be candied ginger and chocolate strawberries and they're going to be all _gone _by the time we get there if we don't go _now_!"

A fond, rueful little smile at Antoinetta and Anya turned back to me, brow lowered. "… Are you ready?"

No. I would never be ready, not for what I was about to do. But I had to be – I had to try and make the best of it. It was this, or face the wrath of the Night Mother. Face _my_ mother. No, I couldn't bear the thought. I had to do this, one way or another, ready or not. I took the vial from my bag and slid it into my bodice, hidden from sight, and nodded.

The three of us made our way to the upper district just as the sun began to set, casting long shadows from the tall timber rooves and dyeing white walls shades of peach. I rarely came to this part of the city, belonging to the rich and well-bred of Cheydinhal. Not since that night, with…

A glance at the tavern, the painted girl on _The Maiden's Whimsy's_ sign seeming to dance as it swung in the wind. A tight swallow and I turned my gaze away, back to the path ahead even as I dreaded what awaited. It seemed much too soon that Antoinetta called us to a halt, nodding up to the estate called Riverview.

It was named right, at least. Near the chattering, burbling river it sat, up foreboding dark stairs and towards towering doubledoors, an Orc standing cross-armed before them.

"Leave it to me." Delicately as a cloud, almost floating on her feet Anya made way before us up the stairs, lifting her skirts and giving the doorman a curtsy. "Good evening. I had heard that dear Voranil is having another one of his get-togethers, tonight?"

"That's right." He cast his eyes over us, brow sinking low. "… Eh. I'm sorry, ma'am, I've never seen you 'fore. I don't think yer on the list – can't let you in."

"The list?" Anya blinked, then gave a silvery laugh. I could only marvel at her acting, the grace with which she carried herself. "Poor Voranil – had to start taking names so he could keep out the riff-raff, hm? _Everyone_ wants in, of course, but I'm sure you know that only a few are truly – well, it would be rude of me to say _worthy_, but I can think of no other term."

"Look, ma'am, you – "

"Of course…" Her lashes cast, voice firming into something soft as the silk of my gown, but strong as steel. "You know better than to mistake myself and my companions for riff-raff, don't you? Voranil did always hire good help. My father used to work with him closely, you see, and I visited often as a girl. It will be wonderful to see him again."

I bit my tongue to keep from wincing for the Orc – a servant, I had to assume. "… I don't mean t'offend, ma'am, but I still can't – "

"I don't understand. Do you mean to tell me you're not going to allow me in? As though myself and my friends are some sort of common rabble, to be barred?"

"I'm sorry, but – "

"After years of friendship, you would have me sent away? Why, I haven't seen Voranil since my father's funeral, and I_ insist_ on seeing him now."

"But – "

Her chin lifted, a glint in her eyes. "That is quite enough, I'm afraid. I have the great displeasure of telling you I have never been treated in such a _horrendous_manner. Now, you're not going to delay us any further, are you? We'll catch a chill out here, with night settling, and I have a lucrative investment proposal for dear Voranil besides. He's certain to be – _quite_ upset if he hears you've driven something like that away."

Something changed in his face at the thought of the Altmer being upset with him. A few moments' thought and he grunted, stepping aside. I released a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. "Go on in."

Biting back that flicker of guilt, I ascended the stairs behind Antoinetta and Anya, avoiding his gaze, and entered the party.

Stepping in there, lifting the hem of my gown, felt like stepping into the parties of years ago. When I'd be scrubbed and powdered, stuffed into a dress and shoved out for wealthy friends of my stepfather and would-be-suitors to fawn over. Immediately I was uncomfortable, feeling awkward and graceless beside my sister and Antoinetta. They blended in almost immediately – Netta with wide smiles and batting lashes, hovering over a lavish buffet table, Anya approaching an Altmer milling around at the back of the room. Our target.

"Voranil! Oh, it's been too long. How are you?"

He stiffened immediately, and for a moment I feared we'd been found out. "Do I know you?"

That laugh again, chiming and graceful. "Well, perhaps not as I am now. But you did, yes – I'm sure you recall? My father, Tomas Guillard, the Marquis of Jehenna? You knew me when I was younger, accompanying him on business trips."

At the word Marquis he softened, inclining his head, nodding slowly. We had gone over the plan once more before leaving, and Anya comforted me with the knowledge that his mind and memory were so ravaged by skooma, he'd never know the difference – and that he was eager to associate with anyone of high standing. "Why – yes, yes, of course I do. And what brings you here, miss – oh, forgive me…"

"Please, call me Evyssa. Why, I was visiting some dear friends and simply had to attend when I heard you still put together such lovely affairs. You always did have good taste. That, and I wanted to see if you might be interested in an investment opportunity. We'd offer it to no one else, you see – it was one of my father's requests on his death bed that I seek you out, so our partnership might continue. Let me fill you in…"

I stopped listening after that, instead making my way to the quieter part of the room. We had some time to kill – only during the afterparty would the skooma come out, giving us our chance. For now, we could 'relax and mingle.' Perk of the job, Antoinetta had said. Wine was a bad idea, but I hovered for a moment over the buffet. Not only candied fruits and strawberries but steaming rolls, crisp duck, glazed ham and crisply roasted vegetables – in any other context I would have enjoyed it, even just the sight of such a colourful spread. As it was, I had to force myself to pluck a strawberry, chewing it slowly.

I recognized some faces in the room – a High Elf from the Fighters' Guild who had once come by for potions, a few upper-class residents I'd seen in the city, even the count and his escorts, though no sign of his son. Anya and Antoinetta blended as easy and sweet as sugar into water, while I felt like oil. I didn't fit, and I feared it was painfully obvious. My gaze strayed to the side of the room, where two more Altmer spoke – one I knew. The Alchemist of the Mages Guild Chapter here, a soft-spoken woman who had come by for ingredients and advice from time to time. That, at least, I knew. I gravitated towards them, giving what I hoped was a polite smile rather than an awkward grimace.

"H-Hello, Eilonwy. How are you?"

"Oh!" She blinked in surprise, tilting her head and shifting her wine from one hand to the other. The man she was with similarly glanced over me, a slight frown furrowing his brow. "Hello. Have we me – oh, yes, I do remember. You run 'The Dusty Cauldron', do you not?"

Anya too had scoffed and teased at the name, but I still felt a little glimmer of pride when I heard it spoken. "That's right. You bought ground nirnroot and acacia seeds last I saw you, if I remember right."

"Yes, you do. My goodness, you must have quite the understanding of your stock." Her smile softened, as did the expression of the man beside her. "I'm well. Forgive my surprise – I didn't expect to see you here. Voranil's quite picky with who he allows in." A blink and she stiffened in alarm. "Not that I believe you _shouldn't _be here, or you don't belong – oh, gods, forgive me, I've misspoken."

"It's alright!" If anything I was comforted by her pleasant awkwardness, knowing I wasn't alone. The man with her chuckled and gently placed a hand on her back, comforting. "I don't seem the type, do I? But, um – my sister has some connections with Voranil's family, you see."

"How lovely. And what a beautiful necklace." My finger rested on the dangling thread of it, both embarrassed and proud.

"Are you going to introduce me, Eilonwy?"

"Of course, of course." She laughed gently behind her hand, shaking her head. "This is my love, Orintur. Orintur, this is the city alchemist I mentioned."

"Ah, yes." He bowed his head approvingly. "A pleasure, I'm sure. It's rare for us not to mutually know someone."

Eilonwy interjected. "We spend much of our time together, in the High Elf way. We share everything – our time, our work, our lives and our friends."

"That's…" I observed their closeness for a moment, swallowing back a flicker of – something. Longing, jealousy, scorn? They were so obviously, completely in love, even in the small motions they made to each other, the way they stood. Perhaps a little much, and yet part of me couldn't help but crave it. The gentleness of a hand on my own back, a look of affection, a kiss on my brow. "That's wonderful. I'm – it's good you've found happiness, with each other."

My thoughts moved to Lucien. Did he make me happy? Did I, him? We seemed to aggravate each other, more than anything else. There were moments of tenderness, but they were overwhelmed by something sharper and darker, less the warmth of a hearth and more the rage of a wildfire. Passionate, all-consuming, _painful_. Even as my anger burned still at being used, I...

Seeing them so close, so very in love, I missed him.

"Oh, we have. I can't imagine anything else." Eilonwy gazed up at him for a moment. They shared a look, then gentle laughter while clinking their glasses. "Besides, I wouldn't know nearly what I do without my beloved teaching me. We're both part of the Mages Guild, of course. I'm surprised I've never seen you there. With what I've seen of your potions, you'd fit in beautifully."

I felt a little warmth rise in my cheeks. "Thank you. I – well, I've been rather busy with setting up shop and everything, these past months, but I've been considering joining."

"We'll look forward to seeing you there."

The conversation turned to our crafts – mine and Eilonwy's of alchemy, Orintur's of Alteration, which I'd dabbled in often. It was all too easy to sink into the discussion, the love of our pursuits. Pushing aside what I'd be using my craft for all too soon, as best I could. Time flowed as easily as the wine until the more reputable guests began to file out, citing the late hour, thanking their host. In time it was only one or two nobles, the Orum gang, Antoinetta, Anya and myself left.

I sidled closer to the buffet table, nearly picked clean, listening as the host spoke to Anya. "… Ah, Miss Evyssa? Will you and your companions be staying, so late?"

"Well, of course, if you'll have us." Another delicate laugh behind her hand. She lowered her voice, just soft enough I could barely catch her words. "That was a lovely affair, but now the true party starts, hm? Don't worry, my friend, I have no qualms about you _relaxing_, now. With all the stress you must put up with…"

His smile curled at the edges of his lips, smug, sinister. "Quite right. Well then!" He gestured sharply at a Dunmer servant, who stiffened. "What are you staring at, you little cow? Don't keep us waiting. Go fetch it!"

Two of the Orcs snickered. Everyone now gravitated towards tables – I followed, sitting near Voranil and Anya as Antoinetta moved to join some of the others. If she caused a distraction soon, all eyes would be on her – away from Voranil, away from me.

The sweetness of the strawberry came up bitter. I swallowed it back down, fists clenched under the table.

Before long cards and dice came out – gambling, deemed illegal and heavily fined by the Court. I didn't have the slightest clue as to what I was doing, of course. I just clutched my cards white-handed and tried not to draw attention to myself.

"Sir?" The Dunmer woman from before returned. She held a silver platter now, hosting several fine goblets. "The – ah, _beverages_, sir."

"About time." He gestured impatiently, although the annoyance fled as he addressed his guests once again. "Our drink is made from only the finest distilled moonsugar – you are all welcome to participate in enjoying it, with thanks to our dear Orcish friends for supplying it." A little wave of laughter. When the tray passed me I politely shook my head – after my experiences with the honey, I'd had more than enough hallucinations. Antoinetta accepted, though, as did Anya. They'd be far more skilled at discreetly pouring it elsewhere.

"Enjoy, my friends." A toothy smile. This was it – sooner or later Antoinetta would begin her distraction, and I…

I couldn't bear to think of it. No, I just had to do it. Simple as that_. Like poisoning a rat._

The clock tolled midnight.


	58. Chapter Fifty-Eight

The party grew increasingly rowdy as the night crawled on, dice thrown, curses shouted, wine spilled. Antoinetta had made a point of sidling up to some of the nobles, earning their rapt attention with flashes of cleavage and fluttering lashes, while Anya remained almost pinned to Voranil's side. Mercifully, most of the attendants seem to have forgotten I was even there. I did nothing to combat that, grateful to blend into the background despite the chaos around me.

Then, a shrill shriek. Antoinetta. A tray lay toppled at her feet, goblets pooling their contents on a fine rug, wet stains on her dress. The Dunmer servant from earlier fretted around her, hands clasped, looking more terrified than apologetic.

"I'm so, _so_ sorry, miss, please, please forgive me – "

"How could you!? I had this dress -" Antoinetta wailed, eyes watering, lip quivering. "E-especially _made_ for tonight! And now it's _ruined!"_ Her gaze flickered across the room, and for a moment we made eye contact. Yes – this was it. Voranil stood from beside me, temporarily abandoning his goblet of skooma. All eyes slowly moved to him, the servant shrinking back as he approached.

"You stupid, clumsy little _idiot _– "

"Please, sir, it was an accident!"

My mouth tasted sour. The world whirled – if I hadn't been sitting, I'm sure I would have toppled. Little laughs, some awkward, some amused came in waves from the remaining partygoers. I glanced at Anya, still seated. Lips twisted, brow furrowed, the act of a haughty noble momentarily dismissed. Then she glanced at me and straightened, only giving the slightest of nods.

No. No – I couldn't do this. I couldn't, it _wasn't _poisoning a rat, it wasn't laying down a trap and walking away, only to find the body later and discard it. This was a man, a living breathing person before me. No matter how cruel or self-obsessed, I had no right. And I was afraid.

To kill a rat was impersonal, a chore. This was horrifically intimate, making my chest heave, the cool glass of the vial pressing against bare skin under my bodice. Maman's face, then that of the wraith flashed in my head.

A slap resounded. The Dunmer recoiled with a shriek, then began to quietly weep. Voranil raised his hand to hit her once more, snarling, eyes wild with intoxication. More laughter from the Orcish gang, though the other Orc servant only watched with sad eyes.

I winced at the slap of skin on skin. I wanted to crawl into myself and escape. I wanted to march over and rip his hands away from her, slap him myself.

As it was, there was only one thing I could do.

It was over before I'd known I'd done it. The powder fell easily into his goblet, the vial in and out of my bodice with nothing more than a whisper. Anya glanced over at me, then stood and made her way to the Altmer.

"Oh, Voranil, please. We musn't let this incompetent servant ruin our night. Come, come – sit, drink. We'll have a toast."

"Useless wench," he spat, only turning at Anya's hand on his arm. He turned back towards the table – I averted my gaze, just catching my sister helping the poor girl up out of the corner of my eye. Antoinetta sighed dramatically, shaking her head.

"It _is_ hard to find good help, isn't it? Oh, well. She'll just have to put her earnings towards replacing my dress!"

I grit my teeth. She was laying it on too thick – the poor girl had suffered enough. Still, there was an illusion to upkeep even now. Despite wanting to go and help her, comfort her, I remained firmly rooted to my seat. The Orc hesitantly approached to help her to another room.

"Now that all the excitement has died down…" Unflappable as ever Anya sat once more, primly tilting her head. "Dear Voranil, I wish to toast to your good health and fortune in the future, and to that of all our friends and associates here."

"And to continuing business." The female Orc, another of the gang, raised her goblet with a grin. Anya and Antoinetta followed, and I hesitantly lifted my own filled with wine.

"Cheers!"

"Here, here!"

"I'll drink to that."

Clinks, then the sculling of drink around me. I barely let the rim of the goblet touch my lips, certain I'd never be able to swallow it through the tightness of my throat. It was done – Voranil lowered his drink with a hazy grin. Perhaps an hour from now –

It was done.

I floated through the crowd, watching games, engaging in pointless chatter as best I could, sharing a night of amusements. Voranil grew increasingly incoherent as the night crawled on. I found myself glancing over my shoulder almost constantly, wincing at every hiccup, every stumble he took. A line of saliva began to dribble down his chin, unnoticed as he leaned back in his chair and stared blankly at the ceiling. One of the signs – excessive salivation. He began to giggle madly, pawing upwards as though trying to catch something.

"Eh?" One of the gang members stalled his game, raising a brow and staring at the Altmer. "Y'alright, Voranil? What're ya doin?"

"Coins!" He reached both hands upwards now, grinning, words slurred. "Don't you see them? Fuh-f-falling from the roof! I'm going to be ri-_rich_…"

"Heh." A tusked grin. "Sure. You just keep sending some of that gold our way."

He answered by doubling over to vomit. I cringed and inched away, my own throat burning with bile. Nausea, now, then his heart would slow. There was no danger of him expelling the poison – it was too late for him. Much too late.

"I don't f-feel… I d-don't…" He slurred further. I remembered the numbness, the burning tingle mad honey had left on my own tongue. He crumpled into the puddle of sick, the Orcs standing at attention with curses, nobles drawing back in disgust.

"Malacath's sake! What –"

"Mara have mercy! Is he alright?"

"He's overdosed. Must've had a topper 'fore we came in." Sharp yellow eyes scanned the room, then landed on me. He pointed. I felt the blood drain from my face, my fingertips, dragging me downwards. "You. I seen you before. Ain't you a healer? _Fix_ him!"

Anya and Antoinetta stared – this wasn't part of the plan. My reputation as an alchemist and healer was more known than I'd thought now, for better or worse. And they weren't going to summon a healer from the chapel, not at the risk of exposing their business. No, I was conveniently here, party to their actions. I could save their best customer.

Except I couldn't.

He was seizing now, head cracking against the floor, limbs erratically twitching. I knelt at his side, trying to rest my arm under his head to cushion it. His mouth frothed, eyes wild and unseeing, flickering back and forth at unseen creatures above him. Strong hallucinations, seizing, then…

"I c-can't." I spoke at last, shaking my head, voice trembling. "I don't – I don't think I can – "

"_Try,"_ snapped the woman. They both hovered nearby now, staring. The Altmer vomited again – I turned his head so he wouldn't drown in it, for all the good it would do him. Magicka hummed on my hands, but never entered his body. In appearance, I was trying – eyes squeezed shut, concentrating. In reality, I was trying to hold back from helping him.

He was beyond any help I could offer, anyway.

Perhaps a full minute later he finally, mercifully slumped in my lap, a guttural sound clawing from out of his throat. Finally still, eyes half-lidded and glazed, mouth hanging agape. I felt it – gods, I felt it, felt his chest swell and shrink with his last breath under my, hands, mine, _I killed him._

All hung in silence. Everyone stared until at last one of the Orcs turned with a vicious curse. He eyed the remaining guests, then the body of Voranil on the floor. "Well? What're you all still doing here? Party's over. _Go home_."

Shaken, we all began to file out – first the nobles, then our little trio after Anya spoke to the Orc. Only when we descended into the safety of the Sanctuary did Antoinetta break the silence with a giggling squeal.

"Oh, did you see how he twitched? And my acting! Oh, my poor, poor dress!" She simpered and toyed with her skirt, doing a twirl. "I'm _traumatized, _really. See, ladies?" Her smile was too bright, blindingly bright. "I told you it'd work! And those stupid Orcs will think it was _their _fault, with the skooma. They'll deal with his body so the guard don't look too close. We don't even have to tidy up!" Her laughter too loud, piercing my skull. I dragged a hand through my hair, stopping short, doubling over.

Her voice seemed to swim now. "Dusty? Oh, come on, don't get all upset now! We did it, we're _fine_! It wasn't so bad, was it?"

"Antoinetta…" A sturdy rock to cling to, Anya's voice amidst the waves. "Why don't you go report our success?"

"Mhm!" She chirped and let us be. I leaned into Anya as we limped to the guest room. Both of us sank to sit down on a bed, her arms around me.

"Dust…"

I cracked. Hoarsely chanting, shaking my head. "I can't do that again. I can't, I _can't_, I just can't, I _can't _– "

"Shh, shh, it's okay. It's alright." She brushed away a lock of hair sticking to my cheek. "I shouldn't – I should have tried to reason with Antoinetta. I shouldn't – damn me, this was a _stupid_ idea. I never should have…"

I laughed. She blinked, drawing back, hand sliding down my arm to hold my hand as I croaked. "I _had_ to. She s-said the T-tenets. The Wrath of… oh-of…" I laughed again, a harsh, crackling sound. "Do you know that that means? Do you know what maman _is,_ now?"

She only stared, lips parted. "… Is she…"

"She's a wraith. She would've punished me if I disobeyed, I know it. She would've _killed_ me before," I spat. "That's all_ any_ of this is, death and dying and murder and I can't, Anya, I just can't _do_ it anymore – "

"Then don't."

I paused, stunned into silence. She moved to take the pendant of my necklace in her palm, pale fingers tracing sapphire. My mouth was dry, barely able to shape words. "… What?"

"Come back with me, to High Rock." We lay down together as she spoke, curled up on the bed like when we were children having nightmares, using one another to shoo them away. Her hair tickled my cheek from where it rested on the pillow, our eyes meeting. "I'd speak to the Listener, ask him to allow you to come home with me. You could stay with me at the manor. I'd help you find a good man, a good home, away from all of this."

My mouth stayed agape. After a moment she cocked a brow, smirking and shaking her head. "Tucket would tell you to stop catching flies."

The possibility seemed – beyond comprehension. Going back to High Rock, back to everything I'd come to Cyrodiil to escape. Suitors, nobility, the gilded cage. Yet this time, I'd be a woman grown. Not under the thumb of my stepfather, a pretty pawn to be traded or matched, but guided instead by my sister.

An impossible thought, both tempting and frightening. To leave everything behind again, everything my life had become in these past strange months. Visions flashed behind my eyes – the Sanctuary, maman, the shrine in the swamps, the ruin. My little shop, Lucien's dark eyes…

Would he even allow it? Would I just be running to a new place to be chained up, still under their eyes while trying to build a new life? Anya being one of them, maybe that would be enough, but... I sighed, feeling like a wrung-out rag now, empty, exhausted. "… I don't know."

"Just think about it." Anya smiled, then grunted and frowned.

"Anya?"

"I'm fine. I suppose my little one is upset, after all the excitement."

I'd almost forgotten about it – the roundness to her belly that I'd seen her with so often in past years. She gave a little chuckle at the doubling of my eyes and took my hand, placing it over her stomach.

"Can you feel her?"

Nothing, at first. I whispered as I waited, as though my voice might startle it away. "How do you know it's a girl?"

"Herminia - Madame Tucket," I wrinkled my nose, suddenly realizing that my old childhood nemesis indeed had a name - "She said I'm carrying higher, this time, not so low and all in the front."

Then a little flutter of movement under my fingers, taking my breath away in a gasp. Almost a tickle against my fingertips, first gentle, then harder like it wanted to keep my attention. Anya laughed aloud, gentle and sweet.

"She's saying 'hello, auntie.'"

"Hello," I murmured back, enraptured by the tiny feelings of life. Life, even after I'd taken a life tonight, held a dying man, a man I'd killed, I could still feel life here.

"You could come with me. Finally meet my children, maybe even have some of your own. Do you want that?"

Did I? Gods, I could hardly care for _myself, _it felt like. And part of me recoiled at the thought that these bloodied hands were even here, feeling this, touching this tremble of innocence and life.

But Anya had. Maman had.

I gave a gusting sigh, sinking into the bed, and Anya laughed. "Alright. One thing at a time. I'll be setting out tomorrow morning, but you know you can always write me if you need anything. Anything at all."

"I know."

We fell into silence. I concentrated on my fingers, on the quivers of life beneath them, until at last we both sank into an exhausted sleep.


	59. Chapter Fifty-Nine

The next few days were – normal, I suppose. What I had done, the events of the past few days, seemed dreamlike and surreal. I could almost pretend my hands were free of blood, could almost pretend I was still nothing but an innocent, caught up in everything that had happened.

Three nights later, I couldn't pretend any longer.

I don't know what awoke me – the night had been soundless, and I'd finally been exhausted enough to sink into a proper sleep. Only in the dead of it did I wake, unable to see past the darkness but knowing I wasn't alone. Footsteps and a figure came into view, framed by what little moonlight bled through the window. Ocheeva, the Argonian mistress of the Sanctuary, now a Speaker in Lucien's place. She hovered in black robes over me, watching as I sat up, resisted the urge to bundle the sheets against my chest like a frightened child. I remembered the night I'd healed her brother, the night she'd thanked me.

"You know what you have done."

My blood ran cold. I nodded slowly and slid out of the bed to stand as she surveyed me, expressionless, eyes lidded.

"Taken an innocent life. You were led to the act, but it was your own hand that administered the poison. Your own hand that snuffed out that flicker of existence and sent it, screaming, into the void."

She extended her hand – a glimmer of metal. A dagger. Familiar little nicks along the edge of the blade dictated its age, where it came from. My mother's dagger that I'd stowed away in my bedside drawer night after night, hardly able to look at it. I inhaled through my teeth at the sight of it, skin prickling. I'd kept it with safe, but never let it taste blood since that night.

But now…

"This blade, forged in the name of Sithis, was never truly yours. Only now may you earn it, by relishing what you have done and accepting the Night Mother's embrace. By joining and serving our family as a murderer, as a Sister."

I finally had no other choice. No more skirting along the edges, no more avoiding the issue. I could hide behind the veil of innocence no longer. I swallowed hard to try and make room for breath, following the little tarnishes and marks of the blade with my gaze. A lifetime of death, my mother's stories engraved there for eternity and beyond.

My jaw trembled. I didn't dare to look up to meet her gaze, fixated on the nicks of the dagger, searching for words.

It all came back to me. Every death. My father and Falrung, Sirius, the Orc I couldn't save. Bellamont's corpse atop me, Phillida at my feet, _maman_, everything in a wave that made me want to crumple, to hide. The twitches that vile man made in my arms as he died, _I killed him,_ I did that and now, again and again and...

"… I can't."

She withdrew into her robes, arms folding. A near imperceptible shake of her head. I felt tears well up and tried to force them back, steeling myself even as I felt like crumbling. There was no taking back the refusal. Lucien would hate me, I'd be a slave to the Brotherhood forever, I'd be trapped and alone but godsdammit all, I just _couldn't_. "I'm _sorry."_

"I expected as much. Live with the choice you have made, then, and you will act not as a Sister of the Dark Brotherhood, but as a servant, a tool." What the Listener Ungolim had named me so long ago, my skill that had saved my life. My throat caught as the blade, mum's blade, disappeared into the void of her robes. "You have no claim to this blade. You are not worthy."

"Please – " I wanted to reach for it, grab it back even if it meant slicing my hands apart. My last trinket, my last tie to maman, severed. But it was already gone and in a moment, so was she. I was alone.

I wanted to cry. To let something go, to have some release. Instead it just burned in me like an acid, cutting, not angry but _hateful_ and exquisite in its agony, grief and fear and exhaustion.

How many in my life had died? Because of me, whether by my failures or hesitations or at my own hand. Papa and Falrung, so long ago, when I'd poured that damned mead. Sirius, because of my mother's secrets. The Orc – I couldn't even remember his name, sick with self-loathing as I realized that – dead because I'd followed orders. A soldier in Kvatch, dying trying to stop me from entering Oblivion. Maman, fear slowing me. Phillida, because I was a gullible fool. Now the Altmer.

And yet I couldn't bring myself to accept the life of a murderer.

I remembered laying on the bed with Anya, feeling her swollen belly, the life within it. I couldn't have that life, either, could I? A pretty dream, but that was all it was. The Brotherhood would never let me go. I could leave with her, find a husband, have a baby, but I'd always be under their watch, their command, just in a different place. And while Sheogorath's invitation always hovered temptingly at the corners of my mind, I was too frozen by fear to act or pursue.

_Pathetic. I'm pathetic._

I cried then, and hated myself for that, too. All I ever did was cry, didn't I? Useless, _pathetic_, unable to save or help anyone, least of all myself. Too cowardly to choose a path, to commit, too fearful and sentimental to simply cut ties and run.

Claws clicked, stirring me out of my reverie. I glared at red eyes in the darkness, snarled in response to the little grunt of confusion as he approached my bed, putting his forepaws atop it. I stuttered through my sobs, half-heartedly pushing him away. "D-don't you dare come up here. Don't you _dare _– "

He did, of course. I bared my teeth, but he only crooned and nuzzled up to me, dragging a warm, wet tongue up the side of my face. I wrapped my arms around him and held him tight, burying my face in his fur, sobbing.

"Why did she send you? You're from _her_. I told them no. Why are you still _here_ for me?"

He only kept licking in response, rubbing the side of his face against mine or just resting his snout on my shoulder, stoic. At last I let myself fall back onto the bed, let my head hit the pillow, and patted the spot beside me. He seemed to hesitate, ears perked, gazing at me as though to make sure.

I could almost laugh at it all, bitter laughter at myself and him at my side. I gave him a weary smile in spite of it all. "C'mere." I closed my eyes as the bed shifted under his weight, as he settled beside me and I nestled close enough that his fur tickled my cheek.

"Damn dog."

Someone was downstairs.

I could hear them – pacing around, rifling through my shelves, humming tunelessly and accompanied by a tap every other step, a cane on wood. I didn't give a damn. Let them rob the place blind – it was the middle of the night and I was exhausted, stubbornly digging in my heels. No more. I'd tolerate no more, not until I'd at least had one good night of sleep. I whimpered as sunlight streamed through the windows and landed squarely on my face, flopping over to bury myself back into the cool dimness of the pillow before realization hit.

Wait. _Sunlight?_

A customer. It was a customer downstairs, and I was still up _here. How did they get in?! Damn it all, I must have forgotten to lock the door and of course they would think the shop open, stupid, I'm so stupid -_

"J-just a moment!" I practically flew down the stairs, only taking a moment before to strip off and throw on rumpled robes in a flurry. Dammit, _dammit,_ how had I slept so _late_?! The one thing I still had for myself, my little shop, and I was about to sour my reputation with it. "I'm so, _so_ sorry. Please, is there anything I can – " I had to stop and catch my breath as I whirled around the bottom of the stairs to my counter. "Ah-anything I can do for you, help you find?"

"Well! Good _morning_! It_ is_ morning, isn't it? Or am I wrong?" My cheeks flushed. The man who spoke was good about it, at least, even as he teased – friendly as the morning sunshine, an elderly gentleman in fine clothing, his cane bumping along the floor as he walked. "Don't suppose ye've got a few minutes to spare?"

"Oh-of course." I swallowed hard, looking him over. Had I seen him somewhere before? He looked familiar somehow, sounded familiar. It tickled at the edges of my mind, light as the brush of a hair and out of my fogged grasp. The events of last night still swirled and reeled sickly in the back of my head, making the bright everyday seem dreamlike. "What can I help you with?"

"Well, I got the damndest crick in me neck." He groaned and stretched, rubbing the back of it with a wrinkled hand. Poor man – at his age, he probably had plenty of cricks and aches. "Yer a healer, ain't ya? I can't go to the chapel for help, y'see. Bad blood, there."

"M-more of an alchemist, but I'm happy to try and help."

I gestured towards my chair and he sat happily, one leg resting on the other. Still half-awake I moved behind him, coaxing his head forward and moving my hands to run down either side of his neck. He chuckled – _where _had I heard that before? "Tickles!"

"Sorry, sir." I began to manipulate his head back and forth, feeling for resistance, for the right spot to pop the joint and offer some relief. "Does this happen often? I'm hoping to create a balm that could soothe such things." I'd been experimenting with a heated balm of flame salts and typical healing pastes for a warming, relaxing effect on aches, though I'd hit a wall at the danger of fire salts.

"Ooh, creative! _That's _a blessing. More than ye know, lass."_ That_ hit something, made me pause and furrow my brow until he spoke again. "But crack it first, will ye? One good snap ought t'do it."

I'd done that before – an easy enough little fix for pain, if temporary. Finding the right spot I gently, but firmly cracked his neck.

It snapped as easily as a dry twig, and his head came away between my hands.

I screamed. I don't know how long it took me to_ stop_ screaming. The head, still grinning and giggling, tumbled from my hands and rolled along the floor. My screaming, his laughter, _where_ had I heard that before –

Oh, _no._

"There!" The body picked up the head. A frown furrowed his brow and he held himself, _his own head_ in one hand while licking the fingers of the other, rubbing his wet thumb across the stump of his neck as though to make it stick. A wet, sickly sound as he set his head backwards on his body and sat, facing where I'd stumbled to the floor behind him with a feral grin.

"Much better! Oh, that's a relief, lass, let me tell ye. Not good for me t'be too whole. Got t'fall t'pieces every so often. Like _you!_ Or at least, what y'seem to be doing. Falling apart at the seams. _Seams_ you're in need of me help! Hah? Hah! _Seams!_ But now that I'm all adjusted, we can talk."

I stared, mouth agape, shivering and near whimpering like a cornered, terrified little animal. His name left me without my realization in a whisper. "… Sheogorath."

"That's _Lord _Sheogorath t'you." He spoke haughtily, reaching his hand towards his back and stroking his beard like it was the most natural thing in the world. "Don't look so shocked, lass! Ye called me here, after all."

What? No, no, I hadn't, I'd done no such thing. I wasn't _ready_. "I – th-there must be some mistake. I didn't – "

"Ye did! Inside out and upside-down, but ye did. From your bed, no less! Little _minx._" His grin grew menacing and I swallowed another scream, pressing myself against the wall. "Just as they told ye to, in the ruin. Remember?"

I scoured my thoughts, not daring to move. Upside-down, from my bed, it made no sense – except it _did_. A terrible, mad kind of sense as all the pieces came together. What had they told me to do, in the ruin? The memories that had been so muddled now echoed clear.

_Call the damn dog. _Upside down and inside out – damn dog, _mad god._

I'd meant Luke, of course, but that didn't seem to matter. I'd called him, and he'd come. I swallowed hard, searched for something to say to placate him, and found I could say nothing. He only clucked his tongue and stood, making the macabre sight of his head backwards on his neck all the worse. My stomach turned.

"Not a very good host, lass. Sleeping in, screaming like a pack 'o harpies in a wheat thresher. Least ye could do is get me some tea, don't you think?"

"O-of course!" It took a second for the message to come through, but when it did I practically flew to my feet. Hands trembling I set on making tea, stoking the fire into life and filling the kettle. Tea – I was making_ tea_ for the _mad god_. Was I dreaming? I had to be dreaming, yes, now and the night before were all some awful dream -

"Yer not." He interrupted my thoughts aloud, making me shudder at the invasion. "Trust me, lass, ye'd know if it were Vaermina in yer home, drinking yer tea. Much less fun, and she only likes it _black! Boring! _Don't worry about yer herbs," he interrupted again as I moved to reach for my little tin of lemongrass. "I've got me own little satchel for it. Just heat the water. And don't burn yerself! You humans are so good at that, hurting yerselves." A low, sinister chuckle. "Ye'd almost think ye _enjoyed_ it."

I stifled another scream as he took hold of either side of his head and, with a mighty twist and sickly crack, turned it back into place. Flesh scoured, bone scraped, and yet when it turned he looked normal, whole and hearty.

I gaped uselessly until he joined me at the hearth, nudging me aside with a wink – again I felt my stomach swirl at the sight of him, the wrongness of it – and added something to the kettle. I caught only a glance of purple, yellow and black, colours shifting and twisting.

"Two mugs. No delicate little teacups, hmn?" He leered over my shoulder as I rummaged through my cupboards, shivers climbing up and down my spine. "Not very Breton, lass! Nor very noble. But ye've never been too good at fitting what you're supposed t'be, have ye? Like tryin' ta fit a square peg in a round hole. Only works if ye sand off the corners."

He paused. I barely choked back a whimper as he trailed a finger lightly along my shoulder, thoughtful. "I assume ye'd like to keep yer limbs?"

I only nodded, hard and fast enough that I feared for a moment my own neck would break. He only grinned and chuckled. I poured out the tea, the liquid steaming and roiling. He accepted a mug with a pleased little nod.

"Now _this_ is the proper way t'have a chat, isn't it?" He sat delicately, gesturing for me to do the same across from him. I clutched the mug, trying to draw comfort from its warmth, instead only nauseated and tingling at the scent of it rising hot to my face. "Two friends, over a cuppa. Or I _thought_ we were friends. But ye never do talk to yer dear old Uncle Sheogorath, do ye, lass? A god starts t'feel _neglected!_"

"Sheo _– Lord _Sheogorath – "

"Ye made a_ vow_ to me, lass. A promise. Perhaps not in so many words, but as good as one, under me shrine in the swamps. Not t'mention to them in the ruins, me sweet children." Suddenly there was something in his free hand – a doll, like the doll Nura had given me, dried corn husks and a painted, placid face. But blue eyes, black hair – my hair, wearing a little green robe just as I did. He chuckled and danced her along his knee.

Did my legs itch, or did I only imagine it?

"Ye promised t'play with me. I invited you, and ye took this long just t'speak to me again. Hurts my feelings! And ye _don't_," he emphasized, leaning forward and towards me with gleaming eyes. "Want t'offend a god. Trust me._ I've_ done it and they all made me mad as a fish in a garter."

"I…" I searched for words, my tongue bumbling against my teeth, throat dry. "I'm so sorry, my lord." How could I have been so _stupid?_ I as good as called him here. I'd had a link with him since I'd spoken to him at the shrine, whether I indulged it or not.

"As ye should be." He nodded solemnly, almost somberly. I nodded along with him, eager for his approval, his happiness, whatever would make him _go away_. He smiled blankly back, leaving me all the more startled when he roared.

"_DRINK YOUR TEA!__"_

I squeaked and gulped down a mouthful, barely managing to swallow it down as I sputtered and coughed. At first there was only heat, then mingling tastes – blackberries, rust and copper, mad glee and hollow, howling sorrow all at once. I shuddered, but didn't dare lower the mug until he grinned at me again.

"_Better_," came a purr. He laughed low in his throat, tawny eyes lidded as he regarded me up and down. "Now, ye've been reading my myths, hm? Good stories, _good stories_! I had the author made into a statue. He still screams sometimes! But it's hard t'scream with molten gold in yer throat, I wager. He's a talented bard. Now, y'remember the one with the king? Him who banned me inspiration in his folk? No paintings, no singing, no parties! I shudder at th'thought of such _boredom_." He played with the doll-me again, now having her move in little circles on the arm of the chair.

It was hard to keep up with his winding tangents, but I nodded along as I clung to my mug. "I remember, my lord."

"Good lass." He stood abruptly, leaving the mug hovering mid-air where his hand once held it as he stalked over to me. I stiffened like a hare as he examined me, then slid his fingers under my chin. He was touching me,_ touching_ me, how did he feel so _normal _–

"And ye remember what I did, hm?"

I swallowed hard and nodded as small as I could, inwardly begging him to pull his hand away. He only smiled, catlike and sinister. "Y-you gave his kingdom your other gift."

"That's right. But things'll play a little different for _you_, lass. Ye don't get one without the other. Hard t'dance with a chain around your ankle, isn't it? Hard t'be inspired when all you know is _fear_."

A shudder down my back. "I… I don't…"

"_Suffocated,_ you are. Breaks my heart t'see it. You need _freedom._ Without it you'll strangle, with that filicidal vixen's _leash_ 'round your throat!" A bark of laughter, barely heard through the lash of anger inside at the thought of _Her_. "But come t'my realm, lass, and you'll have it. Freedom at last, room to be what you are. But here – _here_, my gifts will wither. My blessings, whatever that means for ye." His hand pulled away, but my relief was cut short when instead his fingers landed on my brow. I gave a little gasp, then there was a flash of light and –

I couldn't place it. I was still in my home, in my chair, still holding a strange mug of tea and still in my own skin, but something was missing. I blinked and let my gaze wander, settling on the doll-me that now danced where Sheogorath had sat, of her own accord.

I couldn't even begin to comprehend it. It made no sense, it was _mad_, and I wanted it gone. To blink out of existence. Before I knew what I was doing I was standing, grasping the doll as it struggled in my grasp, squeezing it tight.

"While yer destroying yerself," Sheogorath spoke, calm and cool as a spring breeze. "Be a dear and think back, hm? On all yer fun little projects. Ye said something, didn't ye? A balm for this poor, creaky neck? Or that ambitious little thought fer clean water – so altruistic! I could _vomit."_

I couldn't think, couldn't _think_, could only act in what felt logical and right. This thing in my hands wore my face and made no _sense_, so it had to go away. I stopped squeezing and paused, trying to remember. Formulas, experiments floated just out of my grasp, beyond the perception of this lacking mind. "… I can't do it. It doesn't make sense. It's _impossible.__"_ How had I ever conceived it, when nothing quite like it existed? It was strange, unique, _mad._

That purr again, sending a shiver down my spine. "Not with _my_ help, lass."

He took the doll from my grasp and snapped his fingers – I found myself falling back into my chair, breathless like I'd been punched in the gut. Colour, understanding, _realization_ came flooding back. The formulas that seemed senseless just a moment ago clicked back into my head, a swirl of images and sensations and possibilities.

"There is no genius without a touch of madness, dust speck."

That was it. _That_ was what he'd taken – his gift, his madness, his creativity. The world had been, for a few painful moments, colourless and dead. I inhaled hard, my ribs aching, heart pounding. He chuckled and as delicately as a serving lady offered me my mug back, then sat to take up his own.

"I wager ye aren't too interested in losing that for good, hm?"

No. _No_. It had been a _piece _of me he'd taken, making me into little more than an unfeeling, stagnant automaton. And what he'd placed into the doll, my spark, his blessing – I'd wanted to destroy it. Was that what I would be, without his gift? Denying anything beyond the orderly and logical, losing all the colour and creativity I cherished?

I shook my head. A cackle – he drained his mug, giving a satisfied little sigh before beginning to crunch soundly into the earthenware of it.

"I'm always a little nippish after doing that. So!" He gave me a blood-streaked grin, little splinters of the mug sticking out of his gums. "Ye'll be coming to the Isles, then? T'play, like yer supposed to?"

I couldn't bear the thought of losing myself again, and in that moment it was all too easy to agree. To let what would happen, happen.

And for once, how freeing that seemed.

I swallowed hard and nodded. He stood, his hands aglow with spiralling colours and the hum of magicka.

This was it – I was going, and I was helpless to stop it. I squeezed my eyes shut and waited.

A tick. Two. Slowly I opened one of my eyes, only to find the Madgod entirely occupied with a mirror he'd conjured, examining his reddened grin. He turned only after digging out a shard, raising a brow at me.

"What _are_ ye doing, lass?"

"I…" My stomach heaved. "… I thought – the Isles, Lord?"

He blinked. Then, cacophonous laughter – at my expense, I was certain. My cheeks flared hot as he doubled over, the mirror vanishing from his hand.

"_The Isles, Lord?"_ He simpered in mimicry between giggles, nearly squealing with glee. "Oh, that's _cute._ You mortals are so full 'o yerselves! Little mayflys, maggots on a corpse hardly worth notice, and yet ye think yer gods yerselves! Oh _no_, lass." He wagged a finger, and I did my best not to show my indignation. "No, no, no. After all, if I escorted ye to the Isles like a princess in a carriage, I'd have _complainers_. 'Why did you transport her and not me, Lord? Why don't you take _me_, my Lord? Why won't you stop chewing on my wife's femur, my Lord? No, ye'll find yer own way in."

At last I lost my temper, nights of sleeplessness, guilt and anger exploding out of me. I stood, snarled. _"How!?"_

He deadpanned. "How does anyone do _anything_, lass? _Learn_. Ye've got books. Ye've got eyes. Unless ye want me to take 'em ahead with me!" I drew back with a gasp as he lurched forward, fingers rubbing eagerly together and headed for my face. "Show ye what yer missing. No? In that case," he paused, voice lowering to a reverberating rumble. "_Mind yer tongue_."

My blood ran cold. I barely heard my own whisper. "… I'm sorry."

His eyes, those liquid gold eyes pinned me down for a moment, helpless. Then he squeezed them shut and cackled, moving to rub my hair like I was nothing more than his misbehaving niece. "There's a good little speck of dust. A gift for ye_. Incentive_." He palmed something as though doing a magic trick, then pressed it into my hand. "Ye'll find yer way! Or else ye'll live out the rest of yer days a slave in endless monotony, drown in yer own indecision like a fly in brain pie. One way or another…"

His image before me faded. What remained of his mug fell to the ground and shattered beside the other, his grin and half-moon, golden eyes alight. "I'll be _watching_."

I fell to my knees. He was gone. All evidence of him gone, too, save the shattered mug. No tea, no doll, nothing. No – that wasn't true. I parted my hands, staring in wonder at what he'd given me.

It was unlike any plant I'd ever seen. Bulb-shaped, glowing vividly orange and somehow warm in my grasp, comforting like thawing cold hands by a fire. I pierced the skin of it with my nail and let yellowish liquid seep out, attacking my nostrils with a peppery, spicy heat. It gave warmth, yet unlike fire salts it didn't damage bare skin.

It was _perfect_ for the balm I'd been imagining.

How does anyone do anything?_ Learn. _I could follow this thread, this invitation and through it maybe...

I remembered the madfolk in the ruin, their offer. My time at the shrine. The times I'd escaped, however briefly, from the blood and shadow dominating my world. Remembering what they'd told me. _The easiest thing in the world. You must be your own light in the dark._

I thought on it all day tending shop, only half listening to customers, dipping downstairs to check the usual brews I kept in stock. Going through the motions until at last as the sun dipped I could put up my sign, throw on my cloak and go, the word ringing in my head.

_Learn. _


	60. Chapter Sixty

Sorry for the late upload! Like I said, with these chapters being newer and still prone to tweaking, things might be a little more sporadic now. BUT, I fully hope to see Dust's story through this time, and I'm so grateful for all the encouragement and hearing your thoughts. Thank you guys, so much.

* * *

"I need you to tell me everything."

By some small miracle, I saw no sign of the Brotherhood as I made my way out of the city. No Telaendril on her rounds, no Ocheeva on errands, not even Antoinetta seeking me out to ask why I'd rejected all she'd worked for.

I was grateful. How could I possibly explain?

Even this seemed impossible to put into words, twisting inside me as Niyaneh's lips curved into a wry smirk. "Shall I start as 'A' for the Alessian Empire, then?

"No, I mean…" Still sweaty and panting from my run through the woods I turned, soaking in the ruin once more. The glimmering azure lights of the welkynd stones, the dappling water of the centre pool, the silhouettes all around. Nura, playing with her dolls, dipping them in the water and giggling shrilly. The rabbit-woman watching her, scrabbling to scratch at an itch behind her ear with a hand curled into a claw. The other denizens I didn't know eating, talking, laughing, and Blue with Niyaneh before me looking more skeptical by the moment.

"This. All of this – all of _you. _How did you come to be here? _Why?_ How did Sheogorath find you? What _is _He, what is His Realm, how – "

Ringing laughter from her, a scoff from Blue-Scales-Shining. His tongue flicked as he looked down on me, dismissive. "It's about time you started asking, crumb."

"Now, now. It took us years to figure out what _we_ wanted." Niyanah's eyes crinkled at the corners and I realized she was older than I'd thought. Her wisdom came not only from her studies, but from experience. "Those aren't easy questions, you know. They're not something you can learn from a book."

Well, surely _some _of it could be. Still, I slumped, trying to slow the whirlpool spinning in my head. "That's why I came here. There's so much I don't _understand_, there's - _ah!_ –"

I jerked back, but too late – the Argonian had lunged forward, grabbing me by the collar and hauling me close as I stared back. His nostrils flared, slit eyes narrowing. "… He spoke to you, didn't He?"

"How do you – "

"I have grown keen to the scent of the Madgod's touch and you…" Another long sniff as I craned my head away, making a face at the hot air on my cheek. "You_ reek _of it, little morsel."

"Blue, you'll frighten the poor thing."

"Why _you?"_ I cringed at his guttural snarl, those golden eyes flashing bright. "Why a useless little scrap of pink meat like you, when_ I_ have been pursuing His gifts for years? For _decades?"_

"Blue." A shudder of relief as I was deposited back on my feet, a hand from Niyaneh on his arm softening him. "You know as well as I that the Madgod rarely _gives_ us what we want."

"That's just it." I interjected, trying not to flinch at Blue's glare. I hadn't forgotten his threat about my eyes, when we first met. "He – He came to me. He said that on this plane, I'll wither. That if I can't be myself, I'll lose His blessings." And while those gifts manifested so strangely here that I'd almost call them curses, I had to know exactly what the stakes were.

Creativity, vision, seeing the impossible. I wanted those gifts, of course. They made me, me. But what would I have to sacrifice to keep them? And more, would the sacrifice be _worth_ it?

A beat. Then Blue threw up his hands, stalking off with a growl as Niyaneh only watched me with dark eyes, expectant. "And the alternative?"

"… To go to His realm." His realm, that I knew nothing about. I could barely begin to imagine it, a place so imbued with His gifts. It frightened me, and yet…

I needed to know. I needed to understand. I needed to_ learn._

"You want to know how to go to the Shivering Isles."

A shiver down my own back in turn at that name. "… Is that what it's called? I've only heard it as the Madhouse, or the Asylums…"

"It has many names, of course, as does our Lord. Blue's been trying to find his way there since we left the University." A lopsided smile, not mirthless, but tinged with sobriety.

My chest sank in. "So you don't know."

"No, I'm afraid not. But, come – let's have a walk." She took my arm as she did the first time we spoke, leading me away from the main entrance to the grand hall, instead around the outskirts and alcoves of the room. "One question at a time, hm?"

Of course, now that I was on the spot, they fled. I chewed my lip for a moment as we strolled, gaze drifting over the cultists at work, at play. "… You said you and Blue came here from the University, that you didn't – fit." And wasn't that something I knew all too well, not wanting the life Anya offered, unable to embrace what the Brotherhood would give. Unable – or perhaps simply unwilling. A path they walked, that I could never follow.

A memory awoke, echoing my thoughts. That terrible night in the Night Mother's tomb so long ago, Her cold hands over mine, She told me what Bellamont's soul would have done. I hadn't understood it then, not completely. But now…

_The sacrifice a mother might make, for the sake of her child, for love…_ A shudder crept through me at the thought of her murmur, cold and silky as spidery fingers dancing along my skin. I'd been so lost then, at a crossroads. I'd found my way through the Madgod, but not before turning away from Hers. _In time, Bellamont would have shown you what it had brought him. Heartbreak, madness, death. You would have grown stronger, learned from his mistakes and walked the path you so fear._

To walk the path I feared, the same that maman and Lucien and all those I loved followed. Is_ that_ what would have happened? My breath stilled in my chest, the ruin around me fading. Would I have accepted that dagger? With Bellamont's hateful voice in my ear, twisting me, staining my mind with visions of what his desperate need for love and vengeance had wrought…

Would I have become one of them, in the end?

… But it hadn't gone that way. Dagon's forces invaded, ruining Her plans, killing my mother. Driving me mad with grief and loss, straight into the arms of…

"… But how did you find Sheogorath?" At last I finished my line of questioning, blinking back sudden tears, shaking off the cold invading me. Niyaneh only smiled gently.

"He found me, as is the case with many of us. Blue spoke of Him often – a voice, whispering secrets, equations, impossibilities. He is an unparalleled Alterationist – he can shape water, stone. He made the sunlight that tends my garden, can transmute steel into gold." Though I found the Argonian unpleasant at best, she spoke of him with deep respect. A bee flitted from the halo around her head to her nose, making her laugh aloud.

"As for myself, I was always fascinated by hallucinogenics, by prophets and seers. It was an escape from what I knew…" Her brow furrowed, and mine in turn. Whatever painful memories moved behind her eyes, she dismissed them with a shake of her head. "They showed me futures when I felt I had none. They showed me possibilities, answers I needed so dearly. While for many they were a poison, for me they held secrets that could make the world – my world – a better place."

I mulled on this as we walked, careful to step over the scribbles someone was drawing on the floor of the ruin – handprints, the fingers as petals, melding together into a field of flowers. Artistry, or madness? The two-sided coin again. I knew skooma's dangers, but I also intimately knew the mercy the burnt offerings at the shrine had offered, the answers Niyaneh's honey provided.

"We were drawn to each other. Through him I learned of the Madgod, that such substances were His domain. We became friends, and when Blue left to create a place to study in peace, it seemed only right to come with him, and others joined us in time." A gentle smile as we moved outside of the main hall, now strolling through the smaller series of chambers and corridors surrounding it.

"Why don't I introduce you, hm?"

And so she did. Some, I recognized, if not from their faces then by the voices I'd heard in a drugged haze. Vaughn, the man who'd so worried about Luke carrying disease or tics, whose narrow face went wide with terror at hearing my name. A pair of Bosmeri twins who fled slavery, hardly more than teenagers, trading quips as they examined me head to toe and wondering what secrets I might still hide. An Imperial they spoke of who patrolled the woods as their guardian 'knight', an Orc who'd escaped her unwanted fate as a chief's third bride and come here following a voice in her head –

So many stories, so many I could have never imagined. Nonsensical, impossible, wondrous or terrifying, and all with a common theme. _Freedom._ Whether from literal chains, or obligation, or simply from what society expected of them. My breath shivered out, a distantly familiar sound drawing me out of my thoughts - a taut, sharp slap of hand on hide in rhythm.

As we circled back to the main hall, we found the source – Nura, cross-legged on the floor with a drum in her lap, gleefully smacking it in peals that echoed through the room. I couldn't help myself, grinning as she punctuated slaps with squeals of delight.

"A fan of music, are you?"

"I love music. Drums, especially." Only half aware of it I tapped my fingers together in the same rhythm, bringing forth a fragment of a memory, faded by time. "It was how I learned my first spell." The light spell Falrung taught me, measured in beats.

Niyaneh laughed, a hand on my shoulder. "You said you need to know everything?" At my nod she lowered her voice, intense, eyes glittering. "Know _that._ You've loved Sheogorath's gift of music since you were small. What else does He offer you? What do you want?"

Her question struck me dumb, a hand to my lips. "I…"

"Play with me!" I turned my attention to Nura, still seated but leaning over to tug on my skirt, giving big, pleading eyes. "We've got lots of drums! We like to sing!"

"It's one of our ways of paying tribute. And having a little fun, of course." The Redguard ruffled Nura's hair as she giggled before gently extracting the drum, offering it to me. "Well?"

_What do I want?_

I skimmed my fingers over the surface, feeling the smooth, velvety tension of the skin stretched tight, the potential in the emptiness and solid wood beneath. A gentle tap, then another, summoned up with flickers of my spell as Nura clapped along.

Then, an answering call, deeper, harder. A muscular Altmer pounded on a massive drum on the floor, reverberating through the hall. A higher voice, a flute, from somewhere out of sight. Laughter, clapping.

I felt light. Tingling, from my still-stinging hand to the ends of my hair, biting my lip before beginning a new rhythm on the drum, pulsing with the shadows and glowing flashes I sent playing across white stone. The harder I drummed, the further I let my spell fly, sending scattering motes of light refracting across the surface of the pool.

I caught my breath. "… Right now?"

A nod from Niyaneh, the ruin becoming noisy with footsteps, cheers, music, _life_.

"I want to dance."

"Then what's stopping you?"

Here, now? It seemed like everything that weighed me down was locked outside. And with those chains lifted…

Nothing. Nothing at all.

I let my feet lead me, passing off the drum and mimicking the sparkles of fading light, a whisper of a spell on my lips, slipping out of my shoes and barefoot onto the water of the pool. Skimming like I had on the Nibenay, but this time I felt impossibly light, lifted as the other denizens of the ruin came forth, drawn out by the noise with drums and clapping and dancing of their own.

A little voice scolded, shrill and impatient in the back of my head. _And what, exactly, are you going to learn dancing like a fool with a bunch of mad folk?_

_Well, I suppose I'm about to find out. _

I knew, immediately, that this was more than a game. This was more than a bunch of madmen making noise. There was something almost spiritual here, beyond what I could grasp, but I could feel the power of it sweeping up and through these people. Somehow, the voices of these outcasts and misfits wove together into something beautiful. Was that one of the gifts they'd been given from their patron, passed on through a woman ripped asunder in the time of legends?

I let myself get swept up in it, too, like I was a single wave in the rolling dance of the ocean we made together. I danced like I hadn't since the autumn festival, feeling as though the music itself was swelling under my feet –

Realizing then it wasn't the music at all but the surface of the pool, warbling and waving under Blue's magic. I slowed mid-twirl, blinking, seeing him watch me with a smug grin before one of the waves splashed and lapped at my skirt, my legs, making me shriek and laugh aloud. I wasn't the only victim – the surface of the water rolled and tossed now like we'd awoken it, others on the sidelines getting pelted and cackling, splashing each other, playing.

_Playing,_ laughing and somehow through all the death and terror, somehow, I still wanted that.

Inspiration struck in the bone-humming peals of the drums many seem to have found – I clapped my hands and stamped my feet, summoning up my magicka and sending flashes of light rippling in time with the beat, making the water glow. It seemed to light up my mind, too, thoughts trickling in like the cool water down my legs, the sweat down the nape of my neck.

_This is exactly what He meant. Hard to dance with a chain around your ankle._ I laughed breathlessly, the spell-driven water rolling higher, lifting me for just a moment as I turned. He offered me, as He had so many others, a reason to carve my own path. A reason not to give up and give in, evenone so frivolous and wonderful as song and dance and –

And…

Once more I slowed, getting splashed hard for my trouble but unable to stop myself. I licked the water off my lips, cool and fresh and sweet.

_Clean._

The party had just barely begun, for them, but I made my slip-footed way off the pool and towards Niyaneh and Blue, panting.

"_How?"_

"Still full of questions, are we?"

"It's a simple enough alteration spell - "

"No, no." I cut him off, too full of wonder to even recoil as Blue glared. "The _pool._ It's clean. It must be – _eras_ old, sitting here. You all bathe here, play here and somehow it's still – "

"Pure." Niyaneh finished my thought, giving a lopsided smirk and reaching to brush away a lock of hair slicked to my brow. "It was even when we came here. We've never known why. An underground spring cycling it through, or some ancient Ayleid enchantment on the stonework…"

A shrug from Blue. "A blessing, perhaps, from the Madgod himself. What does it matter?"

"It does." All in a rush I explained it to them, my much loved and much neglected, lofty ambition. Niyaneh listened indulgently, nodding as I came to a breathless halt. Blue made a face.

"That's ridiculous."

I grinned so wide my jaw hurt, blinking back tears. "_Exactly_."

"You see now, don't you?" Her eyes lidded. I nodded slowly, peeling the soaken layers of my skirt from my legs, slowly catching my breath now, catching up with my own thoughts. Sheogorath had given me a colourless taste of what I'd be without this, and here, I felt so richly how much his gifts – and the freedom to embrace them – meant to me.

… How hard I was willing to fight for it. How far I'd be willing to flee. Hell, I'd been ready and willing to let Sheogorath take me then and there. It was never that easy – hadn't they said themselves, He never simply _gave_ someone what they wanted, but…

"You may not know the how…"

I met her eyes, chin raised. "But I know the why."


	61. Chapter Sixty-One

**Author's Note:** As always, thank you guys so much for reading! I just wanted to take a moment to address the recent scare re: fanfic apps on mobile platforms. I checked out the major one in question (that now appears to have been removed from both Apple store and Googleplay) and it did indeed have several of my works on it. I was, of course, NOT a happy camper and I'm very glad to see the apps gone!

So, a sort of PSA: While I might discuss Dust on other platforms, here and A03 are the only sites you should EVER see this work posted on. (I did post some works on Deviant Art a lifetime ago, but those are heavily outdated and still under my username, Quillweave.) Please let me know if you see any copycats, and PLEASE, safeguard your own work, as well. We work hard on what we do - no one but you should profit from it.

* * *

I spent the night drying my clothes, the next day doing tests on the vials of the pool water I'd taken home with me and mulling on what I'd learned in the ruin. I knew the _why,_ now. I knew those gifts Sheogorath offered were something I would try to fight for. But I still didn't know the _how_.

But I knew one place I might just find out. _Approved even by Lucien_ came the thought with a sneer.

"_Ye've got books. Ye've got eyes."_

"_Then join the Mages Guild, if you must. It would be good for appearances, to have you a part of them."_

Their voices echoed in my head, intertwining, leading to the same conclusion and destination. I hovered before the door to the Cheydinhal chapter of the Mages Guild, hesitant. I'd be welcomed, I was sure. It hadn't been that long since I'd left the Arcane University – I was still a member of the guild, a scholar, an alchemist. It only made sense for me to be a part of them.

Still, I had to brace myself before entering. Mingling scents greeted me – the tingle of magicka, herbs, old books and a faint hint of sulfur. A familiar face greeted me, relief making my knees weak as Eilonwy smiled sweetly at the table in the foyer.

"Ah, it's good to see you again!" She stood and clasped my hands briefly between hers, lowering her voice. "I heard about what happened at Riverview after we left. _Awful_ thing. I'm so sorry – I'm sure you did what you could."

I felt bile rise in my throat and forced it back down with a smile. "… Thank you."

"You must be here to join officially, yes? It's good to have the resources here – not just the books but the people. If you ever wish to work on your Alteration, I'm sure my love Orintur would be willing to teach you. First, you should speak with Falca –" She paused and bit her lip, gaze flickering away. "Forgive me, Deetsan. There's been a change in leadership, recently. She's the Guild Head – she'll be up in the library."

Joining up was almost effortless – the Argonian welcomed me as a member of the chapter. I signed my name in the ledger, paid my guild dues for the month, and that was that. My name and my shop preceded me. She gave me a quick, business-like tour and left me in the library, to my own devices.

Books upon books upon books, on tall shelves, littering tables. Other members sat and pondered silently over their work, the only sounds the muffled din of the evening outside and the scratching of quills. I felt like an apprentice again, first entering the University – new, hopeful. Of everything I could do, trapped between choices as I was – the Brotherhood, the Madgod, my own fear and indecision – I could educate myself. I could learn.

I made my way to the shelves and began my search, looking through section by section and stacking them at my feet. Some basic tomes on Daedric Worship and heresy, about faith and gods. My gaze wandered to the highest shelf, fixing on another book – 'The Doors of Oblivion.'

I stood on tiptoe, straining, but barely reached the shelf below the one I needed. _Dammit_. I glanced around for a chair to stand on, finding them all in use. Dammit, _again._ Should've picked up telekinesis at some point. An echo of a memory, distant. _You really ought to think of your more vertically challenged guests…_

I shook away the thought with a little growl and made to try again, wedging the tip of my boot against the bottom shelf to try and hoist myself –

"Dust!" I jumped back, nearly falling off the shelf and staring wide-eyed at Deetsan behind me, who only shook her head. "_Please,_ I realize you are new and may not be fully acquainted with the rules, but do _not_ treat the shelves as your personal ladders."

"Sorry." I shrank on myself, meek and flushed red as she turned away. _Dammit, again! Idiot._ I rubbed a hand across my cheek as though hoping to drag the prickle of embarrassment away. And I still needed that book.

"E-excuse me…" I hardly dared to raise my voice, and of course no one heard me, absorbed in their own work. As much as I was irritated, inwardly I knew I would've been the same. I turned back to the obstacle with a glare, making one final attempt. If I could just edge it out even a little –

A shadow cast over me. A man – an Altmer. I thought I caught a glance in my direction but it was all over so quick I could hardly keep up. He slid the book from its place and into my grasp, took one for himself, then turned without so much as a word. I stared after him for a moment, blinking.

"Ah – thank you!" I called after him, but I doubt he heard me. Orintur sitting nearby stirred at that, casting a skeptical brow and scoffing.

"Don't bother." With that, he returned to his own book and the roll of parchment he scribbled on.

I glared for a moment after he turned away, hugging my findings to my chest. Don't bother? _He'd _bothered to help, at least. A shake of my head and I sought out a nook of my own, letting the little pile sit with a thump and falling into my chair much the same way. Four books – the last one seemed particularly useful. I'd start with that.

Doors – locations where the walls between planes thinned, where one might enter the realms of Oblivion. Places of power, of tragedy – Battlespire, the Dreaming Cave. A riddle of an alchemical formula called Jacinth and Rising Sun._ That_ caught my attention, though I hadn't the faintest what it meant.

'_The simplest and most maddeningly complex way to go to Oblivion was simply to cease to be here, and to begin to be there.'_ I nearly rolled my eyes at that. No _shit._ If only it were that easy. But no – he said I'd have to find my way in. Scouring books, questioning the cultists – gods, it could take months_. Years._

But truthfully, if the door opened now in front of me – was I ready? To leave everything behind, everything I knew?

One step at a time. One step at a time, I'd find my way to freedom, whatever that meant.

It was late by the time I got home, the roads occupied only by crickets and frogs, hopping river to river in a crooning chorus. I entered quietly, peering around the door, half-expecting someone to be there waiting for me. Mercifully quiet – thank gods. Only Luke was there to greet me, rising from where he'd sat and moving to trot around my legs, tongue lolling.

"Hello, boy." I indulged him a pat on the head as I kicked off my boots, shifting the stack of books I'd chosen arm to arm. I'd be able to research easier at home between customers, taking my time to jot notes – not on the books themselves, gods no. Deetsan would have me flayed, I suspected. She reminded me of Tar-Meena that way. I chuckled at the thought, shedding my cloak before making my way upstairs, Luke in my wake. Tomorrow – right now my eyes burned from reading, and I wanted nothing more than to sleep.

"Good evening, pet."

"Lucien!" I gasped and jumped, dropping the books on my foot and hopping, letting loose a string of curses. "You – gods _dammit,_ you _fetching_ – " I hissed through my teeth as he rose from where he sat on my bed, glowering at him as I knelt down to collect the fallen books.

"I heard rumours there was screaming from your home, yesterday." His gaze was dark, darker still in the grey-blue dimness of night, sweeping over my books. I bit my tongue as he picked one up, examining the cover. "I thought it prudent to check in. Doing some research, are we?"

"Light reading." I shakily got back to my feet, extending a hand for the book he'd taken. "There was – a rat."

He deadpanned, unimpressed. "A rat."

"Is that so hard to believe?" I snapped in return, now placing my books on the bedside table, pushing the corn dollie I'd left there aside. "I – it scared me, so I threw my mug at it. When that didn't work I thought I'd leave a trap for it and go somewhere else for a while, check back to see if it was gone."

"Mhmn. Why don't I check this trap for you? If you're so frightened of the little vermin."

_Dammit._ I grit my teeth, avoiding his gaze. There was no trap and we both knew it. "… I put it in the basement and I'm not going down there in the dark. It'll have to wait until morning."

"Afraid of the dark, too, are we? My, my." He kept his tone cool, disinterested in contrast to how my temper rose. His gaze flickered to where I'd set the books, then on the little dollie there. He plucked it up between his fingers, examining it, raising a brow at me.

I held my silence for a moment, then responded as cold and crisp as he. "Her name is Charlotte."

"Mmn." He returned her to the nightstand. There was something – _dark _about the sight of it, the innocent, blank-eyed little doll between the black leather of his gloves. I gave a little sigh of relief, only to catch it in my throat as Lucien turned, catching my chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing my gaze back to his.

"You've been keeping a lot of secrets lately, my pet."

I sneered, though holding his stare was difficult. The hardness, darkness of those eyes, the way they seemed to pierce through to my thoughts. Sometimes it made my knees weak – sometimes it made me want to cower. "How's that bite healing?" A jab at his own secrets. He only smirked, chuckling gently.

"Quite well, thank you for asking. And how is the hound? Keeping you good company, I assume?" A reminder of one of many ties between me and the Dark Brotherhood, a jab of his own. Luke lay curled up in the corner, watching us.

Were it anyone else towering over me like this, he'd have their throats in a moment. He was loyal to me. But he was loyal to the Brotherhood, too.

I jerked myself from his grasp, snarling. "You can't just creep in here and interrogate me whenever it suits you, Lucien. I'm not your prisoner."

"Are you not?" Carefully measured words, cold as frost and sending a shudder down my spine. He regarded me from lidded eyes, head tilted, like a hawk. "You are a servant of the Dark Brotherhood, clearly unwilling. I am now the Listener of the Dark Brotherhood, commanded only by the Night Mother and Sithis himself. Thus…"

Thus, I was their prisoner and his.

I turned from him to hide my eyes prickling with tears, shoulders hunched, fists curling. Silence separated us for a moment, thick and muffling. Lucien's voice didn't break it – it slid through it, like a dagger through flesh, a whisper.

"It didn't need to be this way." I squeezed my eyes shut as he spoke. "You were given a choice. For reasons I cannot begin to fathom, you refused it."

"It wasn't a choice at all."

"Your mother made it. Your sister made it."

"_I am not them_. But if _that's_ what you want – " I whirled on him, stalking closer. "An obedient little pet who'll do your dirty work _and_ share a bed with you at the same time, _go find her_. I'm sure you've got plenty of impressionable, pretty things who'd be happy to kill for you, with Antoinetta at the top of the list."

His reaction startled me. Laughter – soft, rueful laughter as he shook his head. My lip curled as he spoke, voice strangely soft.

"I do, and if I wanted one I assure you, I would get one." His eyes closed, a wry little smile ghosting across thin lips. "Foolish. I had thought – hoped, perhaps…" He shook his head again and trailed off, that crooked smirk never leaving his face. Realization didn't strike so much as seep in.

"… You'd hoped I'd do it for _you_. Join the Brotherhood for you. Change for you. _Kill_ for you."

"I would not be so bold as to say that." But it was true, wasn't it? I had never really understood it before, but now it was clear. Part of me recoiled in anger, but part…

I knew it would never happen. But part of me had so willfully wanted to ignore what _he_ was, what he did. To cut away that part of him and accept only the rest. But it was entwined with him, as much as my rejection of it was to me. I'd wanted him to change, as much as he wanted me to change for him. And now, Sheogorath's offer always at the back of my head, fearing what I might have to lose to chase it…

The tears came back. I blinked them away with a slow inhale, shaking my head. "… Lucien. After everything - Applewatch, the traitor, Oblivion – "

"Which you seem all too eager to run back into." He placed a hand on my shoulder, sliding down my arm, my skin shivering in his wake. "You have seen what few outsiders have, and lived. You have seen the face of the Night Mother herself. You have had the Brotherhood protecting you – pulling you out of Oblivion, our Matron saving you from the traitor, the hound from yourself – yet it has done _nothing_ to convince you."

"It – " I hissed through my teeth, pushing back the well of emotions that threatened to consume me whole. Memories, flashes of imagery. Him pulling me from the ice, catching me in Oblivion, his face eyeless and wet with gore, but I couldn't. No matter what he did for me, I couldn't kill for him. I choked down a sob, shaking my head as his hand moved to my cheek.

There was something there, in spite of myself. Hatred and love, mingled. Was it the same for him, this painful pull? My jaw shook. "… After all we've been through, all you've done, if you _weren't _one of them, I – "

"And if only you were." He pulled back, voice soft, so soft it ached.

"I'm sorry, Lucien." I owed him nothing after all the Dark Brotherhood had taken from me, yet I owed him my life. Perhaps my love, too. "It isn't what I want, who I am. I can't. I just _can't._" Not for him, not for my mother and sister, not for myself.

"Mn. So this is what you wanted, after all." His voice grew distant, light, yet lacking in mirth. "The pretty house and copper kettle." He picked up the doll again, small and fragile in his hand. "A husband and children. Yet you didn't go with Anya."

I shook my head, gaze cast away, voice low. "… I'm trying to decide what I want." More, trying to carve my own path for what I wanted. The air, the silence felt suffocating. I swallowed back tears again, trying to press down on the guilt, the sense of loss building in me. "… I _am_ sorry. That I can't be who you want, or – accept you for what you are."

"It seems both our hopes have died unfulfilled."

That silence again, weighing down on me. I hugged myself tight, wishing it away. Wishing he would say something, anything.

Then I wished the silence hadn't ended.

"Nevertheless, you have made your choice." His voice grew crisp again, businesslike. "You will continue to act as our alchemist and healer, and make the potions and poisons we list, or face the punishment of death."

"I know." I bit my tongue, bitter at the reminder.

"Furthermore, I forbid you from leaving the city, save on your work for the Brotherhood."

"What?" I drew upright, jaw dropping. "You – you'd _forbid_ me?" I repeated, incredulous, anger rearing. "After I've told you, after we – what we just talked about, I thought you _understood_, I – "

"I understand you have made a choice. But prisoners have very few choices, indeed." His head tilted, gaze sharp. "I cannot risk you fleeing to try and escape your duty, now that it is clear your loyalty is fickle, at best."

"You – " I shook my head in disbelief. "Is this a _punishment_? For – for rejecting you? For bruising your gods-damned _pride_!?"

"Just a precaution."

"How_ dare_ you. You – " I inhaled through my teeth, fingers aching for how tightly my hands clenched. "I work for the Mages Guild now. They'll want me to go on expeditions, to scavenge for ingredients. What am I supposed to tell them?"

"Then you will inform the Brotherhood where you will be, and when you are expected to return. And if you should try to take the opportunity to escape…" His voice dropped, a purr. "You will be found. You will be punished."

"_Fuck_ you." He seemed briefly taken aback, then amused by my vitrol, shaking his head with a chuckle as I continued. My hands shook, heat rising in my throat, my stomach, the ends of my fingers tingling with the urge to do something, anything. "I'll make your damn poisons, and I'll keep quiet about the Brotherhood. I'll obey the tenets. That is all I'm bound to. I don't owe you anything more in exchange for my life." Or did I? I pushed back the memories of our time together again, squeezing my eyes shut tight until I saw white.

He paused then. My eyes closed I couldn't see his face, but I could picture it. That calm, expectant look, the lidded eyes, the little white scar on his chin that shifted with tightening lips. "I could force you, of course. You won't dare disobey the tenets – Antoinetta's little escapade with you made that clear. I could command you to do as I wished. And you would obey, wouldn't you?"

I opened my eyes then, staring, hating. Hating that it was true. I couldn't disobey. I wanted to live, and more – I didn't want to die at the hands of my own mother. And if it meant obeying _His…_

Well, it was as he said. Prisoners have very few choices, indeed.

I swallowed and spoke, voice hoarse, almost a croak. "Will you, then? Force me to take up a dagger? Force me into your _bed?_ You have that power over me, as you've so _eloquently_ shown."

"No. I have seen what resentment breeds in a brother." The Traitor's face, wild with grief and lust for vengeance flashed in my memory. "I would not be the one to plant another traitor in our midst. No, Dust." He inclined his head, taking a step back. My shoulders slumped with relief even as I willed myself to stand tall, proud, confident against him. "If this is the life you choose then by all means, live it._ Live_ with yourself, if you can." A slight sneer creased his features, mirthless and sharp.

"_Make the best of it_, as dear Abelle would say."

I was still trembling when he turned, striding down the stairs. Still hot and sick and shaking limb to limb, as though I were a potion about to explode into smoke. Only when I heard the door slam did I follow, running down the stairs, uselessly throwing the surviving mug of these past days at the door shut behind him.

I moved in a trance to get my broom, sweeping up the little, jagged pieces, the methodical task giving me a chance to calm.

Was this all my life would be? The choices of a prisoner, broken mugs?

No. _No._ I still had the Isles, even if it would take me years to get there. It was a tangible goal, something I had for myself and myself alone. I had the guild, I had my shop. And with that elated freedom I'd felt at the ruin ever present now in my thoughts, I had something to pursue, something all my own at last.

_Damn him, I _will _make the best of it._

_Somehow._


	62. Chapter Sixty-Two

I want to take a moment to thank my dear friend, whose OC Astarill is finally formally introduced in this chapter! They'd prefer not to be named, but they know who they are and, I hope, how much they mean to me. Dust's story isn't just here, online - it's between me and my friend with their own character, for all those years we've had so much fun roleplaying and goofing off together. Thank you, so much.

* * *

I entered the guild the next evening, unable to stand the stifling atmosphere of my home that seemed still to echo with the events of the day before. In the guild, at least, maybe I could concentrate. I gave Luke a farewell pat on the head – he whined mournfully, but I could just picture the guild head's face at the sight of him – and headed off, books in tow. Finally, some peace and quiet, a chance to refocus.

Or so I thought.

"Then it isn't _safe_, is it?" Orintur's voice rose, sharp and nasally in irritation. I quietly closed the door behind me, head tilting to better catch the discussion upstairs. "I refuse to let her go. Besides, do you really trust that he's any better than_ they_ are?"

He? I dared to peek around the balustrade, catching sight of those in the library – Deetsan, arms crossed and head shaking, Orintur protectively standing by Eilonwy who shied behind him, and a stranger. No, not a stranger – the Altmer that had helped me before, had gotten down my book.

"I am entirely capable of going alone." The other Altmer gave Orintur a brief glance, jaw set.

"Oh, you'd _like_ that, wouldn't you? A chance to talk in private with all your necromancer friends!"

A necromancer? That peaked my interest. He didn't particularly look like one – of course, neither had Bolor.

He scoffed and rolled his eyes as Orintur glared, Deetsan giving a throaty sigh.

"Enough. Astarill, I cannot allow you to go alone. The flora in nature is mostly unknown to us, save that it is dangerous and poisonous. You'll need an alchemist's guidance to deal with it."

The Altmer – Astarill – shook his head with a grumble I barely heard. "I'm not an _idiot._ I can handle poisonous flora."

Deetsan ignored him, however, her gaze moving smoothly to Orintur and Eilonwy. "And given the necromancers that call the cavern home, I cannot allow Eilonwy to go unescorted."

"Then let _me _take her."

"You have many skills, Magician, but cavern delving is not one of them."

The whole scenario – each unwilling to work with each other, yet unable to do without. It reminded me of a riddle, something about a fox, a chicken, a dog and a boat, all trying to get across. I stifled a laugh – but not well enough. Deetsan turned and raised a ridged brow, catching me red-cheeked and wide-eyed as I tried to appear innocent.

"Ah, the new member. Dust, isn't it? The alchemist – " Her eyes narrowed, then a little smile slithered across her features. She gestured me closer to join the conversation, turning back to the rest.

"It seems I've found a solution. Dust is a fine alchemist in her own right, and I'm certain she has no trouble in navigating the dangers of such work with a little assistance. Isn't that right?"

"Er – yes. Yes, of course!" I didn't know exactly what I was getting myself into but from the look on Deetsan's face, I knew what she wanted me to say. "I'll do it. Um, whatever 'it' is…?"

"I'll fill you in. Orintur, Eilonwy, you are both free to go." The former scoffed and lead away the latter as she bowed her reddened face low, apparently embarrassed at having been in this argument in the first place.

"Now, then…" Deetsan clasped her hands together, glancing from me to the Altmer and back. "Dust, Astarill, Astarill, Dust. Now that we're all friends, here is what you must do."

The expedition was laid out in detail – we would venture to a cavern, some three hours walk South towards the Valus Mountains. Along the foot of the mountains we'd find the cavern, where a small group of necromancers had made their home. Preying on local hunters, unearthing nearby graves, they needed to be 'dealt with.' That would be the Altmer's role.

I bit my tongue. _Bolor._ He had likely fled again farther North, maybe as far as Skyrim or High Rock. Brief fears of finding him, having to_ hurt_ him soothed – I wouldn't see him again. He'd said so himself. And as for dealing with them, they'd earned their fates, hadn't they? Kidnappers, grave robbers, defilers and murderers…

… But then, who was I to judge?

Now the guild head outlined my own task - finding, harvesting and examining the unusual venomous flora. I interrupted then, curious.

"Wait – is it poisonous, or venomous?"

Deetsan blinked at me. "Pardon?"

"The flowers. Does consuming it or touching it bring about the effects, or does the flower itself seek to attack with a venom it holds, like a snake? There's a key difference - " I shrank somewhat at the look she gave me, brow ridge lowered. Astarill tilted his head as I spoke, eyes still narrowed, but thankfully fixed on Deetsan. "… Between them. Um."

"I – " She made a little rasp in her throat, shaking her head. "… That's for _you_ to find out, isn't it. I don't know if there's a connection to the necromancers inside, but if – _when _you find the flora, you will return with samples. I expect you both to strike out tomorrow morning."

The next morning, so soon?

… Lucien would be furious.

I set my jaw. _Good._

I needed this. If I ever truly wanted to find my way to the Isles, I might need the resources the guild could offer. Books, fellow academics, answers to riddles. Possibilities. That meant doing as I was tasked.

Besides, it offered a chance to be who I was _before_ all of this, before the Brotherhood. An alchemist, a scholar, a part of something bigger than myself instead of always being an outsider. Working again, participating again – the thought felt good. As, admittedly, did the thought of spiting him.

I nodded as Deetsan surveyed me, caution in her gaze, then sighed and turned away.

Once she was out of earshot I turned to my new partner in crime, looking him up and down. I hadn't gotten a good look before now, not really. Funny – where most Altmer I knew like Orintur were all sleek lines, he was squares and triangles. Gravely serious, the brows over heavyset olive eyes. I met his gaze and flushed as he narrowed his eyes in return, pulling a face at my staring.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I don't – I don't mean to stare, it's just – " I stumbled over my words, cheeks hot. "I – I wanted to make sure I recognized you." Not entirely false. "I wanted to thank you for the other day, when you helped me get that book off the shelf."

He stared for a long moment, silent, then his features went lax as he straightened. "… You're welcome."

So this was to be my introduction to working for the guild? He seemed like a barrel of laughs. Still, he had helped me, even without being asked. I straightened myself, slapping a smile back on. "So! You're the, ah, resident expert on necromancy?"

He looked – uncomfortable wasn't quite the word, but tense. Was I forcing him into conversation? Dammit, I was trying to be friendly and just making myself look a fool. "Yes."

"So..." After a moment of scrounging for something to say I relented, turning the topic to business. "Um. Maybe we should – sit and plan for a bit?" I managed to keep that smile on, shrugging a shoulder. "Maybe you've got some tips on dealing with them?"

I breathed a sigh of relief when he nodded, gesturing for me to follow and turning to lead the way. To my surprise, we didn't head up to the guild's small library – instead out the front doors, onto the busy midday street. I struggled to keep up with his stride through the stream of people, my satchel of books bundled up against my chest. It seems I wouldn't be getting my reading done today, after all.

"Where are we headed?"

"The Newlands Lodge. I have a room."

"Oh! Certainly." That made sense. Those times when Bolor would bounce ideas off me, even ones based more in restoration than necromancy, we did it discreetly. Besides, I didn't want to end up in the middle of an encounter with Astarill and Orintur like poor Eilonwy had.

But what if he was right to be worried for her? What if he was protecting her? 'All your necromancer friends…'

I stared at his back for a long moment as he strode ahead. He did seem withdrawn, reserved, but that was hardly a crime. And besides, Deetsan seemed to point to him more as an eliminator of necromancers, rather than one himself. _Does it take one to kill one?_

"Duuusty!"

_Oh, no._ I froze there, dread sinking into my gut as my new cohort turned with a raised brow. Antoinetta sashayed over, dressed in day clothes, beaming wide.

"I haven't seen you in _ages_! Been busy with your nose in books, huh?" A grin and a wink. Did she – did she not know? I couldn't read her, couldn't wrap my head around her cheerful manner as she sidled up and eyed Astarill with a painted smirk. "Who's your friend?"

"He's – "

"You know where to find me." Curtly he spoke, then turned on his heel and left. _Dammit_. I went to give a glare to Antoinetta –

And met her own, surprisingly vicious. _Oh._

_She does know._

"After _e__verything_." All charm and sweetness had evaporated from her, pale brows low, eyes narrowed. Her voice shook, tight and quiet. "I – I just… I knew you didn't like it, but I thought…"

"What? That I'd do it for you? For _him? He_ did." I spat back without thinking, holding my books against me like a shield. Something to cling to, dig my fingers white-knuckled against. _She has no right to judge me, no right to –_

Gods dammit all, those blue eyes were teary. I sighed and relented, shoulders slumping. Anger now turned to shame, guilt at her confusion, her hurt. Did she feel rejected, too? "… I'm sorry, Netta. You know I'm still – it's not like I'm leaving. I _can't._ I just… I couldn't do what he wanted, either. What you wanted."

A long sigh. The anger that had curled and contorted her pretty features left her, lips turning in a moue. "… I know. I just – it's gonna change everything, you know? Not how it's done, but how it _feels._"

She was right. I was still a servant, a slave, a tool, but now destined to never be more. There wouldn't be a second chance, no changing what I'd done. No one to bargain on my behalf. My mother was gone. And Lucien…

_No. Don__'t think about him. Not now. _I swallowed hard, blinked back tears and turned my head to hide them from Antoinetta. "… I've – I've got to go. I've got work to do."

"Dusty…"

"I _will _come see you, okay? I will. Or you can visit me in the shop, whenever you want. We can bake together again." I managed a smile, strained as it felt. Painted on. I remembered the doll Nura had given me, the one Sheogorath had held, her dotted eyes and little red mouth. "But I really do have to go."

I didn't wait for her response. I couldn't. It was too hard to think about, too much to shoulder right now. No, better to meet with my colleague and focus on the task at hand. Steeling myself I made way for the Newlands Lodge, and somehow resisted the urge to look back at her in the crowd.

I'd never been inside this place before, and apparently for good reason. It was dim, smoky almost to the point of offence, a persistent tickle in the back of my throat here. Not bad enough to be a stink – rather clean at a glance, actually – but the scent of alcohol and old wood and sourness hung. Quiet, though, with only a few scattered patrons. A familiar face, mercifully focused on his drink – one of the Orum Gang from that night at the Riverview. The sight brought another in mind, that frothing mouth, eyes rolling, his head in my hands as I watched him…

_Not that, either. Focus. Come on._

I screwed up my courage and approached the Dunmer tending the counter. She looked overworked – deep lines drawn into an otherwise young face, pinched lips, the hair she kept up in a bun coming frazzled and loose. A rag thrown down on the counter in front of me as she eyed me up and down. "Haven't seen you here before. What's your pleasure, then?"

"I'm – I'm actually looking for someone. Astarill – an Altmer, tall, fair haired? He said he has a room here, and he's expecting me…"

"Oh?" Her thin brows rose high, a smirk curling before it vanished just as quickly. "Well, piss-skin's up on the second floor, first door on your left."

_Rude._ I kept from making a face until my back was turned and I was headed up rickety stairs. A deep breath as I stood before the door, then knocked.

It didn't take long. He opened and gestured me inside the sparse room. A stool with a small lectern, a long, narrow bed by the shuttered window. Impersonal – it could belong to the room of any traveler. He gestured for me to sit on the stool as he took the bed.

"You don't have a place in town?"

A beat. "No." He paused for a moment again, first looking down at his folded hands, then back up under lowered brows to me. I pushed back discomfort, anxiety. I'd worked with colleagues like this before, after all. Many of us 'mage types' were secluded, awkward around others. Easier to find answers in books, static and factual, than in everchanging, untrustworthy people.

"Constructs – skeletons and zombies, walking dead are as I imagine you know, immune to poisons by nature." I did well know and nodded. How could you poison something without a bloodstream, a heartbeat? "Stabbing won't damage it either, lacking the vital organs a living being has."

It felt almost like he was reading to me from a book. For a moment I felt younger, back at the university, listening to one of Bolor's lectures in the hall, notes on my lap. A breath. His gaze had drifted somewhere over my shoulder. Had I done the same at those few guest lessons I'd given, so long ago?

"Should you have spells to deter them or interfere with the weave that sustains them – or better, that allows you to overtake and control them – those would be effective. Failing that, they can be taken apart like any living being based on their structure, by severing tendons or bludgeoning them apart in the case of skeletons - "

"I have a spell for that!" I straightened up, then shrank again as he seemed to blink out of the reverie teaching brought, staring expressionlessly at me now. A sheepish smile as I felt myself turning pink. "Well – sort of."

I could almost hear Bolor's voice in my head, encouraging me, helping me explain. "It's – it's possible, using restoration magic, to hinder a skeleton's movement. You've heard of how some necromancers use healing to try and reinforce flesh and bone even on undead tissue, yes?"

A nod and I continued, hands balled into fists in my lap. Alchemy was and always would be my first love, but restoration was exciting, too – especially to off-kilter issues like this. It had been so exciting to discover this, to practice the technique with Bolor all those years ago. "Well, I learned to abuse that. I've – I've never tried it with a hostile construct, admittedly, but..." On Bolor's summons, letting me test. Before Traven came into power and the craft was banned. Before…

A moment of nostalgia, bitter-sweet. I dismissed it with a shake of my head. "Anyway. Using healing, I can cause the bone to overgrow around the joints. It takes a lot of effort – exhausting, really, but it isn't especially difficult." My smile returned. "Not as temperamental as living bone, I think. I can render them immobile or even topple them if I focus on the talocrural articulation."

"The ankles," he muttered under his breath, gaze only the drifting back to my own. "Where did you learn that?"

"An old friend, in the university." I saw no point in lying, but that didn't mean I'd give _all_ the details. I hoped the blush on my cheeks had faded by now. "He was a necromancer, before it was outlawed by the guild." And after, but that I kept to myself.

Both brows rose at once. "And he stayed on? Not many did." A low scoff as he shook his head, the tail of his white-blond hair falling over a shoulder. "A lot of knowledge was lost, then."

"It was. I don't agree with all of necromancy, of course – graverobbing and all that – but the advances in restoration he made…" I'd been so in awe of him then. Even now, how could I dismiss his work? It was good, even in spite of what he'd done, what had made me recoil from him.

"Will now be discredited and forgotten. Lost like all their work."

Confiscated and burned. I could picture it behind my eyes, the flicker of the flames that had swallowed Bolor's work he'd left behind after he fled. Fled when I'd found out about his creation, when he sent the Brotherhood after me. Memories flooded in, some old, some fresh enough to sting like a papercut – those pained living eyes in a dead hull, Lucien's blade at my neck and hiss in my ear, Bolor freeing me, giving me the chance to fight Bellamont for our lives…

_You're shedding that. Leaving it all behind. That's why you're doing this, remember? To build something for yourself. Making the best of it._

Silence fell between us for a moment. Part of me didn't want to leave it here, because it would mean returning home to be alone with my thoughts. Still, I knew I ought to let my colleague get some rest, and do the same myself. "I suppose I'll meet you at the South Gate, tomorrow morning?"

He nodded, shifting his shoulders. "Tomorrow, then, at dawn." I gathered myself up and left him then, back into the city that was now beginning to wind down as evening fell, as I mulled on the job ahead.

A cave with necromancers…

I could handle it. I wouldn't have been sent if it was really beyond my abilities, would I? And besides, I wanted to go. Even if it delayed my research for a day or two, if I had to close my shop for a while, it would be worth it. Just to show Lucien I didn't need him to try and plan my life out for me, to scorn the choices I made. To do something because _I_ wanted to, not because there was the threat of a blade unseen at my back.

Besides, this mysterious plant, whatever it was – I was excited to find it. Deetsan's description had been unhelpful at best and confusing at worst, but to discover a new strain, or something entirely new…

Wasn't this the reason I went to the University in the first place, so long ago? To pursue that passion. Where I'd been before everything I'd known had changed. My experiments, like the warm balm, my project to create clean water – I felt a tingle down the back of my neck, remembering the samples I'd taken home from the ruin. I knew how much all this meant to me – and just how far I'd go for it remained to be seen. What I'd be willing to sacrifice to chase it.

A reminder at the door when it was Luke who greeted me, tail wagging, ears perked, red eyes wide with excitement. _Damn dog_, came the fond thought. Somehow, since the ruin, I'd come to appreciate the mutt.

After all, he represented the one thing the Brotherhood gave me that hadn't now turned bitter. Loyalty. Perhaps love. From a mother who couldn't give it in life, almost an apology now.

Sunrise, then. For now I scrounged up supper – throwing the piteously whining hound some scraps, unable to resist – and read as I ate, diving back into the worlds of Oblivion.


	63. Chapter Sixty-Three

I was up before the sun that morning, gathering myself – my supplies and my wits – for whatever lay ahead of me. A bedroll, rations, my healing supplies and my satchel with the big pouch to collect samples of the flora. My dirk knife, strapped to my belt. A few useful little potions, of course – some for healing, some more… destructive. I didn't get to use my concoctions often, and I had to admit the idea of getting to see their worth in the field was exciting.

In a moment of bittersweet thought I opened my bedside drawer, fingers meeting bare wood where the dagger once lay. My dagger, mum's dagger, belonging now to neither of us. I swallowed back a pang, pulling my hand away like I'd touched a candle flame.

_What did they do with it?_

_No, no point in dwelling on that._ I was trying to tear myself free of them, not bind myself further. I threw my cloak around my shoulders and made for the door – only to find myself pulled suddenly back with a growl.

"Luke!" I glared at him as he stared back, maw full of the material of my cloak. I tugged gently, but he just bit down harder. "Luke, I've got to go. I do _not_ want to be late and make a poor impression. Just, Luke, _let go_ – " Another tug. He growled, red eyes narrowing, claws sliding along the floor.

… Of course. Of _course_ he would want to accompany me – be pressed to, being what he was. Had Lucien ordered him directly, or did he simply, innately know? I glared for a moment longer, grumbling through my teeth. He'd be coming with me, it seemed. So much for cutting ties.

Then again, perhaps it was a good thing. I stepped out, Luke now happily at my side as I locked the door and began down the quiet street. Orintur's words yesterday echoed in my head again. _"A chance to talk in private with all your necromancer friends." _He'd seemed trustworthy enough, yesterday, and he _had_ gotten me that book down, but…

Well. Better safe than sorry.

I arrived a few minutes later than I'd intended, having to take the long way around when I spotted Telaendril making her usual rounds in the city. I'd left a note inside for Lucien – if he wondered where I was, he'd undoubtedly be able to get in and read it himself. If not, well, all the better. I didn't want questions, interrogation.

The Altmer turned as I approached, mild annoyance on his face – probably at my lateness – swiftly turning to surprise. His hand flew to a sword at his side, face twisting, eyes fixed on Luke who panted beside me. "What - is _that_?"

"Wh - oh! He's - he's just my dog. He's, um – a bit _funny_ looking, I know, but he's harmless. I just like to have him along. You know, in case we run into trouble." I bit my lip, giving an awkward laugh. "H-his mother was a nix-hound, you see, and his father a very brave dog." The lie that had garnered chuckles, or at least dismissal from others only made his brows lower, eyes narrowing until he let his swordarm fall.

"Nix-hounds aren't mammals."

I blinked dumbly as Luke moved to sniff around Astarill's feet. "I'm sorry?"

"They aren't mammals. Nix-hounds don't give birth." A line rose briefly between his lips and his nares before vanishing, replaced by calm, cool politeness as he bowed his head. "Shall we go?"

I nodded stiffly, walking behind him as he began to move. Well – _shit._ That ended that little story, didn't it? I hadn't known that. Dammit, few in this province knew. Nobody had corrected me. Nix-hounds were a strange, exotic creature of Morrowind, and even most of the Dunmer in Cheydinhal had been grown and raised here in Cyrodiil. How was I going to pass him off? At least the subject had been abandoned, for now. I glanced at Luke as he walked beside me, oblivious and just happy to be out in the sun.

For the first hour of walking, I was too nervous to speak. The second and I was too busy _panting_, trying desperately to keep up with my partner's strides as our path grew ever more treacherous, rockier and steeper as we approached our destination. Sweat beaded my brow even in the early morning chill, leaving me blinking as we began another descent down crumbling rockface. I tried to angle my path down, staying near the scrub and brush in case I needed to grab something for support, while he made his way down far ahead – not graceful or light on his feet, like those in the Brotherhood, but like a boulder, unstoppable on its forceful path. He never spoke, but his continuing stride spoke for him. _Keep up, or be left behind._

And here, well. I was neither graceful, nor forceful, but I'd be _damned_ if I fell behind.

By the time we were nearing the end of our third hour walking I was quietly cursing every other step. Replaying the last days in my head, exhausted and irritable. Damn Lucien, for – for _using_ me, hurting me. Making me think he cared, could understand. Damn Antoinetta for making me do what I did. Damn the blisters on my feet, stinging with every footfall. _Damn_ this cave for not being any closer and –

Astarill stopped short. "Here."

"Oh, thank _gods_." I nearly doubled over, huffing, then sucked in a breath and flushed at his skeptical look. "I mean – thank you. Should we t-take a break?" I tried not to make my pleading overly obvious as Luke wound around my legs. "Ju-hust for a minute or two. Catch our breath before we head inside."

Another long stare and he nodded, then moved to sit. Gratefully I did the same, flumping to the stone ground beneath us, Luke sitting beside me. I snorted as he licked my sweaty cheek, pulling over my pack and pulling out my waterskin for a much-needed drink, then letting my gaze wander.

Not much grew this far up the mountainside. Thin, hardy plants, reedy evergreens, sparse grasses and wormwood. The cave was indeed nearby, open-mouthed and waiting for us, showing no mysteries beyond the shadowed entrance.

"I wonder what the plant will be like." Breath regained I tried to make conversation, crossing my legs and stroking Luke's head when he laid it down on my lap. "I wish Deetsan had been able to give a better description. I could be looking for anything, right now."

His smile took me by surprise, even as brief and crooked as it was with the mumble under his breath. "Or _nothing_." Almost as soon as I saw it, it vanished, leaving me frowning.

"Pardon?"

"Nothing." He shook his head, gaze averted to his own pack as he rummaged through. "If you're going to eat, now is the time. We won't be stopping again inside until after."

All business. I sighed and dug out my own meal, the rations I'd wrapped earlier that day – smoked pork, an apple and a thick slice of pumpernickel. Luke perked up immediately. Whether he needed to eat or not, he certainly enjoyed it. I tore off a piece of the meat and grinned as he wolfed it down, licking his chops. "Did you even taste it, you greedy thing?" A whine in response and he laid down again, giving me big, mournful eyes.

"Oh, no. The rest is for me. You don't even _need_ – " I caught myself just in time, clearing my throat and tearing off a piece of bread. "… Need to eat now. I fed you before we left, remember?"

Astarill regarded me briefly, brows lowered. "Has he a name?"

"Luke." I scratched behind his ears as he crooned. "He's really just a big softie. He'd only hurt someone if they tried to hurt me." A warning, however subtle. Part of me liked my new partner - lacking the pretension of many Altmer, blunt and straight-forward, but Orintur's earlier words still rang in my head.

"Hmn."

We ate in silence until we were finished, crumbs falling from my lap as I stood. I brushed myself clean and glanced once more to the entrance of the cave, hesitant now. Necromancers. I'd shared a bed with, _loved_ a necromancer before.

… What if now, I had to kill one?

_This is different._ I shrugged my pack on my shoulder, lips tightening_. It's an assignment from the guild, and it's self-defense. Besides, these are no innocents._

…_Neither was Voranil. Is it different, really?_

My stomach churned. I regretted my meal as it climbed back up my throat, biting my tongue until the pain eased away nausea. Luke pressed his cold nose into the palm of my hand, pulling me from my thoughts in time to hear Astarill speak.

"Are you ready?"

I swallowed hard and nodded. He turned and entered the cave, leading the way as I summoned up my little orb of light to hover beside me. Once more Luke pressed against my side, pausing me, comforting me.

I'd come this far.

I followed him into the darkness of the cavern, hand hovering over the handle of my blade.

My spell lit up the walls, illuminating crags and sending bats perched on the ceiling screaming for cover. We paused as the first small room closed into a claustrophobic hall. I wrung my hands, chewing on my bottom lip. Even with my light we could only see so far – the rest of the hall was black, shrouded in shadow.

"Should – should I lead? Since I have my light – "

"Stay behind me. Do not," he stressed, "get in the way, or do anything stupid." With that he strode in front of me, leaving me to follow as I glowered at his back and Luke brought up the rear. Well, I had no bloody_intention_ of doing anything stupid, did I?

Still, part of me was glad to let him lead. The atmosphere became more oppressive as we began to make our way into the winding hall, darkness closing in, barely kept at bay with my spell. There was a low, constant hum, like the cave itself was alive and thrumming, breathing. Like we were in the gullet of some beast. I kept a wary hand on my blade even as I watched for the flora.

The hall opened up to another room, this time with three branching paths. It was beginning to look lived in, now. Crates and barrels lined one of the far walls, a chair near the other and – I suppressed a shudder – a pit with several coffins, varying sizes and broken apart in the center of the room.

So the necromancers were no rumour.

Astarill approached the pit of coffins, examining them coolly, edging one away with the tip of his boot. Just wood. Empty wood boxes. Still, my throat was tight.

Empty_ now._

"What – do you think they're doing here?" I lowered my voice, tried to keep it steady. I had to prove I could handle this, both to the guild and to myself. "I mean, other than the obvious, but why are they doing _that_ – "

"The usual necromancer interests, likely. Eternal life, resurrection, undead armies." I remembered Bolor's creation – that poor woman, stinking of formaldehyde even as her eyes looked so alive, so pained. This time I couldn't repress a shudder, swallowing hard. Luke whined and I stroked his flank, reassuring myself with his solid warmth.

"… The coffins, do you think - does that mean they have – zombies or skeletons? Walking dead?"

"Contructs." It wasn't so much that he spoke absent-mindedly, as that he seemed not to pay me much mind. But there was an intensity in that low murmur. "One moment."

I felt a faint tingle of magicka and perked up as he spoke facing the opposite paths, a thoughtful murmur. "There are four in a room to the North, some forty feet away. Clustered around a table, sitting." A pause. "Five constructs as well, straight ahead against the walls of the tunnel."

Four and five. I nodded, jaw aching from holding it tight. "How, um – how do you want to – " A shriek left me, quickly muffled as I slapped my hands over my mouth and jumped backwards.

The sudden light had caught me offguard, bright violet in the dimness, glinting like the eyes of a predator. They widened briefly in surprise, then narrowed, the spell vanishing in a blink. _His _eyes, I realized – a detection spell. I'd never seen one in action like that before, and my nerves jarred as they were…

My face seemed to glow with heat as he glared at me. I shrunk in embarrassment and averted my gaze. A deep breath, in and out through his nares, his words even and stony.

"Why don't you go wait outside, and I'll fetch you if I encounter the flora so you can identify it."

I bristled. Oh, a part of me was tempted – I wanted dearly to get out of here, away from the faint stench of death and threat before us, but dammit, I was here for a _reason_. I could do this. I'd faced the traitor, faced _hell_, braved a ruin of madmen! I could deal with a few corpselickers. "I'm fine. What's the plan?"

A grumble of relent and he turned back to the halls. "Their constructs are inert. If we go in quickly, we might prevent them from awakening and take them unawares. Can you use that?" A glance at me over his shoulder as I placed a hand over the hilt of my blade.

"Of course." ...Well_. Sort _of. The few scant sessions with Lucien and Netta hadn't exactly made me a master swordsman, but I knew which end to stick in, at least. Luke thumped his head against my hip, making me smile in spite of myself. "And I have a little extra protection, besides."

_Will that be enough?_ I remembered Luke pouncing on the cultists in the ruin, the wounds he left. He could kill, I had no doubt. _Do I want him too?_

_It's not the same. It's not the same. I'm not a murderer, it's not the same. These people brought it on themselves_.

I wasn't very convincing, even to myself. But I couldn't turn back now, even if I wanted to - couldn't leave my colleague, as unpleasant as he was, to face them alone. That made it better, gave what foreboded a sense of purpose. _Be brave._

The cavern closed in again as we moved, low ceilings and jagged stalactites forcing the taller Altmer to walk crouched while I matched pace with Luke, trying to keep my footfalls light. Our breath seemed terribly loud in there until at last it opened up again, revealing another lived-in tunnel. Benches against the cavern walls, barrels topped with stubs of flickering candles and…

I bit my tongue as a skull grinned at me. Alcoves were carved into the walls, housing those constructs Astarill had spoken of. A glance was enough to make me shudder but at least they were, as he said, silent. Waiting for the call to action that, hopefully, we wouldn't let come to pass.

At least the room was lit, not just the candles but ablaze with torches on wall sconces, each set just inside the alcoves, above the skulls. Perfect - I could conserve my magicka. I let my light spell fizzle out and reached for one on tiptoe.

I heard him just a second too late, felt the hiss of enchantment in the torch's sconce. "_Don't _\- you did."

"What?" His eyes were glowing lilac again as I turned, felt my blood drain from my face as behind him one of the skeletons shifted. A reverberating growl began, low and guttural and clattering, then rose in pitch with distance shouts. "Intruders!" A warning system. The torches were enchanted on touch.

_Shit._


	64. Chapter Sixty-Four

Everything exploded into movement, but I froze. The Altmer cursed under his breath and pulled free his blade, already swinging, Luke was up and charging with teeth bared, and the skeletons with that horrible rasp closed in quick, so quickly -

It took the sight of sharp metal heading my way to finally snap me out of it. I felt the _whoosh _of air as the mace aimed squarely for my head missed by a fraction when I squeaked and ducked, felt the vibrations as it hit the cavern wall. If that had been my head -

No more considering, no more apprehension. This was here and now and _real,_ suddenly fighting for my life.

I ducked down on instinct again, this time to all fours as legs moved all around me – furry, clothed and skeletal_. The spell!_ I lashed out to grab the one above me by the tibia, rolling over in the dirt as it twisted in confusion, shrieking. Grow. _Grow,_ I pleaded, channeling the spell into my fingertips.

A hell of a lot more challenging with chaos around me, trying not to get stepped on or get in the way of my allies, praying I could get away with dealing with this one construct without grabbing the attention of another. Sensation – a sort of clicking, stiff, calcified growth spearing out and consuming rounded hinges and joints. I kept my grip tight enough to creak around the bone even as I rolled to avoid another blow, the mace coming down into the dirt and stone just beside me.

I scrambled on all fours, facing up now, watching as the construct flailed its rusted weapon, tried to step and found its leg useless. _Hah!_ I could do this!_ I could do this!_ I pushed myself up and drew my blade in the same movement, lunged forward –

And found myself blinking as the thin, tapered point – made for puncturing, plunging – slid remarkably pointlessly between the empty spaces of its ribs. It seemed almost confused as me for a moment, staring down at the point of my blade, then glared at me and gave another unholy screech.

Oh. Well.

The mace came back fast, too fast. I didn't have time to think, not even time to regret my stupid, _stupid _mistake –

It stopped. Half an inch from my face the blow ended in the air. _What?_ I felt the tingle of magicka and turned, seeing Astarill's brow furrowed, hand outstretched. A telekinetic barrier. The skeleton pulled back and moved to swing again, then Luke leapt up beside me and brought it down, apparently the last of them here. Around us were scattered bones, the almost tangible fizzle of conjuration that had maintained them hissing in air that smelled of ozone.

I could only blink. Breathing hard, glancing at my new partner. "The, um. The spell." I gestured vaguely to where the construct had fallen, Luke still gnashing teeth through the spinal column and separating the skull from the neck. "The spell worked."

He deadpanned. "Congratulations." Then his gaze jerked away, down the hall, and mine followed. Movement, shouts – the necromancers were coming, all four of them. Living, thinking people, a lot more dangerous than their constructs –

But they had bloodstreams. They had heartbeats.

"Can you put up a barrier in the tunnel? Push them back?" A nod. He raised both hands, brow furrowed in concentration as I turned my attention to my satchel, digging through, feeling the shapes of the glass bottles within. The shouts grew louder, footsteps closer. No, no – _yes!_ There it was, round glass to fly better.

Simple powdered egg yolks to bind proteins, glow dust to attract and extract them, bergamot and funnel cap to devour it – all magicka, as ethereal as it was had basis in the physical and could be detected. Could be destroyed.

They were at the barrier now, figures cloaked in black, one at the front raising their hand with a spell of their own. Astarill growled under his breath. "If you're going to do something…"

"Drop it!" _Now_. I took a few steps forward for momentum and threw the poison. The invisible barrier fallen it cracked on one of their heads – I winced at the sound, but their coughs, their sudden panic as they tried and failed to summon up spells instilled some measure of satisfaction. "_There_. They – "

No time for explanations. They were lunging at us, some attempting spells and finding their magicka drained, others simply resorting to daggers and swords. Four, like he said. I took a step back, grip back to my dirk knife, out of the sheath again. _You can't hesitate. _Lucien's voice. As much as it made my mouth turn bitter, the warning from our lessons was true.

Clashing metal. Luke snarling, screams. One came for me and what training I'd been given flooded back in – I pulled back from their blow, twisted to the left, lunged forward with one of my own –

It was a sensation I'd never felt before, knowing I'd skewered flesh like that, deep enough to hit bone, to need to withdraw before the tip could get stuck. Sickening, somehow wrong even knowing I had little choice. A guttural grunt and the necromancer – a woman now, I saw with her hood falling back – stumbled, my blade returning from her chest wet and glinting. Nausea bubbled up, made me clumsy.

She wasn't done yet. The punch to my face, so crude, was unexpected. As was the push that came after, a shove driving me up against the wall, knocking all the air out of me with a gasp and a crunch.

Crunch?

_My potions!_

I swore, first at feeling the satchel at my hip leak, then at nails digging into my neck. I returned the favour, wheeling to grab a fistful of hair and pull _hard_, kicking under the robes. Where I hit didn't matter – I wasn't thinking anymore of strategy. Just instinct taking over, trying to keep the end of that dagger from burying inside me. She stabbed forward as I did the same and I _knew_ she'd hit her mark, it couldn't possibly have missed but somehow I didn't feel pain at all.

She stumbled back, clutching at her stomach. Her black robes gave away no hint of the wounds but that blood streaked hand, desperately clutching at her gut – that told story enough.

I made the one mistake I told myself I wouldn't.

I hesitated.

She glanced around herself, gasping, wide-eyed at the fallen allies around her. Luke and Astarill had been efficient, brutal while I struggled. The elf came grim faced at her, a heavy blade swinging to her head, then she moved and there was a flash of steel downwards, a gout of blood –

"_No!_ No, _no_ – "

A crack. She fell to the ground expressionless, mouth agape, eyes glassy. I thought it was her who had shrieked but it was me, me as Astarill sunk to his knees and cursed through his teeth, clutching at the wound she'd made in her final moments. It _spurted _blood, stemmed only by his hands as the dagger fell loose.

Bright red, quick, constant flow. Already the leg of his pants was well stained red, and it just kept coming. I knelt beside him, but I already knew. Femoral artery. He'd bleed to death, in minutes.

_No, nonono, not again, not again -_

I'd tried to escape death, tried to escape the blood and dark the Brotherhood wanted me to bring, and brought it anyway.

"Don't panic." I spoke more to myself than him as I ripped off my satchel, digging through. Useless – every potion smashed, contents soaked into the material. _Fast, think fast._ I dug through the shards, ignoring the sting on my fingers, to pull free a string of linens, tearing them apart into strips. "I – I'll make a tourniquet. Do you have any magicka left?"

"No." Growled through his teeth as he held the wound, trying to stem it without luck. Gods, so much blood. He was pale already, brow tinged with sweat, breath coming shallow. "Atronach. It won't come back."

_Shit._ I'd hoped to absorb some, have enough to reach deep past flesh and muscle to heal him. I had some, barely enough to slow the bleeding, but it wouldn't be enough to stop it.

He was going to die. He was going to die because I hesitated, all my fault, _again,_ we'd just barely met and I'd condemned an innocent man –

_Don't panic. Not now. Think._ I tied the tourniquet tight, tight enough that it must have hurt for how his breathing grew harsher. My healing had stemmed, but not stopped the flow. Only delayed the inevitable. Born under the Atronach, his magicka wouldn't restore. Mine would, but it would take precious time we simply didn't have. I needed the blood to congeal, _now._

_Congeal._

A spark in the back of my mind came alight like flame flickering up a wick, tingling, the hairs on my neck raising. I was reluctant to leave him but this – this might work. I had to try. Luke hovered nearby, stoic and somber, almost as though he understood. "I'll be right back. Stay here, alright? Don't move."

The laughter took me by surprise. Was he delirious with blood loss, or just grimly laughing in the face of death? "Oh. Well. If you _insist."_

I ran. Back out the way we came, trying not to trip over bones or corpses, praying I wouldn't return to one. Out into the afternoon, looking desperately among the scrub and cliff rock for that green lace –

_Yes!_

I gathered handfuls as quick as I could, fingers cut from the glass in my bag now dirtied. It didn't matter. Nothing else did but getting this done. Back inside, practically flying, pulling out my travelling mortar and pestle – mercifully unharmed – and stripping the leaves in, grinding it down.

"_What."_ He spoke through clenched teeth, his eyes – were they unfocused? Hurry, _hurry_. "Are you doing?"

"Wormwood congeals blood. My potions were destroyed, this is the best chance we have." Water made it into a paste, green and gritty and bitter-smelling. "With my healing, it might be enough_." Please, gods, please let it be enough._ "It might sting."

His hands parted. Another cloth to wipe away the blood and water to flush the wound, make it visible through all that red. _There._ I smoothed the paste on, coaxing it in with my magicka as best I could. _Work_, I pleaded with it. Eyes closed, trying to nudge the tissue to accept this invader, let it do its work. Congeal and slow the blood, give the severed artery the time it needed to seal itself up and heal. Give me the time I needed for my magicka to return.

Breathing slow, in and out even as my hands trembled. I wanted to keep my magicka going as long as I could in a small, but steady stream. When emptied, all we could do was wait.

One minute. Two. It still bled, but had it slowed? I thought so, but it was difficult to tell. I held my breath, kept wiping away the stains so I could see what was really happening. Poor Astarill somehow kept his patience, kept his head even as inside I panicked.

A full minute passed without blood burbling up before I finally let myself relax. I felt suddenly boneless, both relieved, _so_ relieved and yet near pushed to tears. "It's – it's stopped. It's alright. You're going to be fine. Thank _gods_."

He met my gaze, his own understandably exhausted, before giving an affirming grunt. His hands moved up to the linens I'd wrapped tight around his leg. "We should remove this, then, before nerve damage sets in."

"Oh – oh, yes, of course." I fumbled for my boline, digging the tapered end as best I could under the tight cloth until it sprang free. That had to hurt, to throb. Still, he didn't show much discomfort, just taking long, steadying breaths and closing his eyes as I wrapped bandages around his thigh. I pulled forward my bag and pulled off the bedroll, thankfully mostly untouched by my spilled potions, and slid it behind where he sat by the wall.

"You should lay down, and rest. We should be safe now. I – I can administer more healing once my magicka comes back, too, or if they have potions in here somewhere. But for now, you should rest."

A nod, then the narrowing of olive eyes. He shifted gradually over to my bedroll, watching me. "You're wounded."

"I'm…" Only now did I become aware of it, the faint throbbing from my collarbone. I reached gingerly for it, fingers meeting wet warmth and coming back red. _"Oh."_ She had met her mark, after all. Or, no – her mark must have been my heart. Instead the blade had scraped and carven along the bone of my chest, injuring, but not fatally.

Pure luck, that. A slow bleed, as much as it throbbed. It would scar ugly for a few weeks, but that was a better alternative than dying here. Luke whimpered, nosing my bloodied hand until I reached down to pat him with the other. "I – I think I'm alright. I'll heal it when my magicka comes back." A giggle at the cold wet of Luke's snuffling whine. "It's _okay_, boy. I'm okay." The_ punch_ hurt more, really, an aching thud through my jaw and teeth in time with the beat of my heart.

But it _did _beat. We were alive. Adrenaline began to sink, leaving me weary, but there was still a job to do if I wanted to prove myself to the Mages Guild.

"I'll go look around for the flora Deetsan mentioned. I wish we had more details." A frown. Still, we had nothing but time now. I glanced back at my erstwhile companion, at Luke who regarded him with a tilted head. "I'll try to be quick. Do you want Luke to stay here, watch out for you while you rest?"

He seemed – not quite taken aback, but puzzled, perhaps, by the question. A moment of consideration before he spoke, plain and heavy like words graven in stone. "I'll be fine."

"Alright. Just shout if you need anything."

It wasn't a large cavern – those few rooms we'd seen and some branching to either side, a final large room straight ahead. I saved that for last, instead investigating what must have been their living quarters first, then a makeshift kitchen to the other side.

… A strange, empty feeling lingered. There was still fresh bread half-sawed on the table, plates scattered. Still a bucket of soapy water, awaiting dishes that would never come from mouths that would never eat again. Their bodies and the bodies of the constructs, scattered or slumped through the halls. I tried not to look at them, tried to dismiss it, but…

I'd helped do that. It wasn't _murder_, not with the threat they'd presented to the locals and their crimes against the dead, but...

I thought of Voranil, his head lolling in my hands. My stomach churned. But I did this, defended myself here because I chose a different path. At least this way, it wasn't the blood of innocents. At least this, I did of my own will.

The corpse of the woman lay still, facedown in a stain of black.

I took a deep breath and set to my search.


	65. Chapter Sixty-Five

It was about as I had imagined.

Plenty of Cairn Bolete, of course, common in caves. The pit of splintered coffins boasted many, sprouting around the sides and to the ends of the rotting wood. Wisp stalk, too, so often used for those poisons the Dark Brotherhood demanded of me.

Beyond those – several common strains of fungi, good for little more than a slightly pungent meal. A distant, bittersweet memory of a shared stew rose, and I pushed it away. Remnants of the ones who had lived here in chests of clothing, unmade beds, books half-read and notes half-scrawled. Still, no sign of the flora. At least my magicka had returned now. I healed the ugly wound on my chest as best I could, wiped off the dried blood with a rag and water from my canteen. It stung to the touch, making me hiss.

Another whimper. Luke didn't like that I was hurt, clearly. Sweet boy. I gave him an affectionate thump on the rear as he rubbed against me.

"Let's try the last room."

We turned and made for the final room, where I'd only poked my head in before. The smell had been enough to make me try and delay the inevitable – faint but necrotic, chemical with embalming agents. Cold to inhale, making my lungs feel dry and dead themselves. The room itself was a sort of contorted oval shape, with slab tables on either side of the room. Towards the front were shelves and two desks –

And Astarill. Upright and apparently recovered, thank all gods. He stood at the desks with his back to me, looking over the papers there. Probably preparing to burn it all away, as the Mages Guild wanted done with all necromantic paraphernalia after Traven's rise to power. Like they'd done with Bolor's work.

… Was that really only months ago?

Astarill shifted. The leather tome he'd thumbed through, some necromancer's journal, wasn't returned to the desk. He moved to pull a satchel forward, sliding it in there in a very small, _explicitly outlawed_ act against the Mages Guild's laws.

Only then did our eyes meet. A moment of awkward tension. He didn't move to defend himself or hide it, didn't babble excuses as I would have done. Just straightened and turned back to the desk, crumpling up papers to burn.

"I… I don't care, you know."

I hadn't entirely realized I'd spoken, but he did. An arched brow as he looked over his shoulder at me. I felt my face go hot, but pressed on.

"I mean – I just think it's stupid, the law. There's value in necromantic studies, even when it's used for things like what they were doing. I won't tell anyone."

He stared me down a moment longer before his features settled neutral again. He turned back to his work, tossing papers behind in a growing pile. "I don't care who you tell. They won't find any evidence."

That made me grin. How wonderful to meet someone who was so detached from politics, from rules, after being so entangled in them with the Brotherhood. He really just _didn't care,_ and it was oddly refreshing. "How're you feeling?"

"Fine." A beat, two. A new edge entered his voice – not quite light, not quite entertained, but with an air of _something_ to it that made me feel like he knew something I didn't. "Any sign of the flora?"

"Nothing yet, but I'll look around one more time. Just in case."

There it was again, that note of – amusement? "You do that. I'll burn these."

A shared nod and we parted, me back to my search. Nothing in their laboratory, either. Slabs covered with brownish stains that made my stomach curl, broken bone segments tossed in little piles, but no sign of the plant. I scoured the other rooms again, this time making sure to peer in the darkest corners, little crevices. On my third search I did that and more _still,_ craning my neck back to watch for any sort of vine growth from the jagged, dripping ceilings.

Nothing. Nothing, _nothing…_

"There's _nothing _here!"

I finally let my frustration get the better of me, kicking at a stray rock to send it scattering before me as I stalked back into the laboratory. A fire of the necromancer's work burned steadily now, Astarill beside it. Luke settled next to him as I threw up my hands.

"I've searched every gods-damned nook and cranny and there's _nothing._ Not a singleaberration_, _not even a mutated strain of what grows here naturally. What am I missing!? What…" Dammit, _dammit!_ My very first assignment here and I wouldn't even be able to complete it! What was I _missing?_

Finally I joined Luke by the fire, rubbing away some of the wet cold that had sunk in as I'd explored the caverns. His nosing offered some comfort and I patted his head as he rested it in my lap, muttering to myself. "We can't go back empty-handed." Maybe they grew around the mouth of the cave and we'd walked past them? Maybe…

"She _expects_ us to."

I blinked, drawn from my thoughts. "What?"

"To go back empty-handed." He spoke deadpan, factual as the sky. "We can't bring back something that doesn't exist in the first place."

_Doesn'__t exist?_ I shook my head, eyes narrowed. "I don't understand."

"There never was a 'flora' to collect. Deetsan wanted us to deal with the necromancers, but she didn't trust sending me alone."

Realization began to dawn. "… It was an excuse for someone to go with you. To…"

"To ensure I didn't get a chance to 'talk in private with all my necromancer friends", a sneer, "As Orintur would put it." The sneer vanished as quickly as it'd come, expression stony again as he settled more comfortably by the fire. "And you were conveniently available."

She'd _used_ me. Sent me in, risked my life to be her underhanded spy. I'd expected to be put to work, of course, like any member of the guild, but I hadn't joined to be_ lied_ to. To be – to be manipulated, gods dammit _all_, I'd joined them to get _away _from that –

The anger must have shown on my face. He only shrugged. "You'll get used to it."

I snorted, stroking one of Luke's ears, gritting my teeth. _Alright. Alright, yes, it's bullshit, but you didn't join the guild for the politics. Breathe. _The air was tinged with smoke by now, pushing back the uncomfortable smells of death and undeath that lingered in here. "… So what do we do, when we go back without it? Play dumb?"

"Do what you need to. I'm going to take my pay and move on."

"We get paid?"

A blink. He stared for a long moment, seeming to need to search for words. "… You thought we _didn't_?"

My face turned red again. I ducked my gaze down, giving a little shrug of my own. "We – we didn't back at the University, that's all. I didn't expect…" That was nice, at least. A little less worry about missing a day of business.

"If you let them know you'll work for free, they'll take full advantage."

"I'm already used to that." A bark of a laugh. At his look I explained, bitterly amused. "Being taken advantage of, I mean. It's been happening a lot lately."

"That will happen, with the Mages Guild."

So it would seem. Family, friends, Brotherhood or Guild – everywhere I looked were ulterior motives, some 'for my own good', some ignoring my good entirely. Everywhere, binds tying me down for better or worse.

_You crave freedom._ Lucien's words, back in Leyawiin. That was why I was even in this cold, wet cavern at all. The freedom to be myself, to live my life as I had before the Brotherhood, the tempting glint of freedom Sheogorath's offer held.

… And, of course, I was here out of spite.

Abruptly the Altmer reached for his satchel, moving to stand. "We should start back, before dark."

"That makes sense. Just let me take another look at your leg first – " At his quizzical, somewhat pointed look I flushed. "_Please_. If you don't mind. It's a long hike, and you lost a lot of blood. I can at least make sure you're alright."

Heavy brows lowered over olive eyes for a moment before he relented, looking away. "… That would probably be wise."

Only after I was satisfied he'd healed well did we pack up to leave the cavern behind. Putting out the smoldering fire, leaving nothing but a patch of soot and the necromancer's bodies as evidence of what had happened here. That same vague sense of guilt, the same circular thoughts trying to justify it lingered as we left the mouth of the cave into midday light. I blinked hard before glancing back, staring at the silent, yawning entrance.

Luke, nosing my hand. Astarill ahead of me, satchel slung over his shoulder and glancing back expectantly.

_You did what you had to. And at least this time, it was by choice._

"Let's go home."

The sun was just beginning to set low enough to bleed through the trees, sparkles of light through silhouetted pines when we came home. As we turned back to the Northern road through the brush, I could have mistaken that red glint for the sunset. Brilliantly aglow and shimmering, humming.

I didn't. I knew, immediately, what I was seeing.

"_No.__"_

I murmured it, so softly he must not have heard. Not here. Impossible to be here. But as we came to the edge of the treeline and gained a clear line of sight, there was no denying it.

An Oblivion gate.

It had torn up through the earth and even part of the cobblestone road, grass charred to soot, stone streaked with black and red. The same as the one at Kvatch. Visions flashed behind my eyes. The daedroth hulking over me. Lucien, strangling in the harrada. The dremora, the hook and _her,_ eyes empty.

"You two!"

I jerked out of my reverie, Luke pressing against my side as I swayed on my feet. A city guard – far from the only one out here. A makeshift campsite was being built, barricades like those I'd seen in Kvatch set up around the gate as a garrison stood at the ready. Behind us, up the road, marched the woman who'd shouted.

"Mages Guild? We've been waiting for you." Astarill nodded. I tried to speak, but found my tongue numb. My head buzzed, her words sounding as though they came from far away. There was a group behind her – other citizens who must have been out for the day, returning home. Farmers, hunters, huddling and whispering.

"I'm escorting you all back into the city, then we're going into strict lockdown. No one goes in or out until we figure out how to _deal_ with this blasted thing."

Things got – blurry. I remember hearing the guard reassuring citizens that the gate had been quiet the last few hours, since the first attack when it had appeared. I remembered seeing scorch marks and scrapes along the road. I remember the resounding thud of the gates closing behind us, sealing us into the safety of the city.

"We should report in to Deetsan."

Astarill's voice. Finally, the fog began to clear. Still a tremble in my limbs, my heart fluttering, but at least I could think. I nodded, happy to let him take the lead."Alright."

The city itself was quiet. No hawking of wares, no rattling cartwheels. No toll of the chapel bells or general bustle of the evening crowds, going home or seeking supper. Only the clatter of steel boots against cobble, regular patrols up and down the streets. The others in our little group scattered to their homes, urged and ordered by the guards as Astarill and I made way back to the guildhall.

"Thank the Nine." She was there almost as soon as we entered, relief sagging her shoulders as she strode down the stairs to greet us. "The gate sprung up late this morning. I told the guards to keep an eye out for you both coming back -"

"They escorted us in." I was only too happy to let my partner speak. "The necromancers are dead."

A grim nod. "Good." A scaled ridge rose as she turned her gaze to me. "And the flora...?"

The irritation from earlier was long gone. I mustered an answer, glad for the support of Luke at my side. "There - there was no flora. No new strains, nothing to be discovered." Out of the corner of my eye I saw Astarill watch Deetsan, silent but with head tilted, eyes narrowed.

"Hm. Well, a rumour is only a rumour. Reports were mistaken, then. In any case you both did well, and I'm glad to see you back safely." Those weren't empty words she spoke, even for her official manner. There was relief in her gaze, regret in her sigh as she turned to the counter, returning with two small purses. "If I'd known what would happen..."

I dumbly took one bag as Astarill accepted the other, voice crisp. "Are they assembling a militia?"

"I'm not certain. I _am _certain, however, they'd appreciate any help you could give."

A nod and he was out on his heel, with only a nod to me in farewell. I felt the weight of the purse with a shopkeep's hand, some absurd part of my mind focusing on that comforting, normal little task. A nice amount. Certainly enough to make up for missing a day of potential business. I wasn't about to enter the poorhouse but with the fine I was still paying off it was better to be careful, to stretch the coin maman had given me -

Her inky hair loose, lips parted, a dribble of blood down her chin -

I tilted forward and caught the edge of the counter white knuckled.

"Are you alright, Dust?" Deetsan's orange eyes met mine as she frowned. "Perhaps the task was - too much, for your very first. I apologize."

"No, no." I tried to keep my voice steady, standing upright again as Luke whined. Deetsan eyed him, then me as I pocketed the purse. "Just - a little shaken by the gate, that's all."

"Understandable, but we should be safe in the city. They say someone has discovered how to close the gates. If it can be done, it is only a matter of time." She took a step back from a sniffing Luke with a frown, then paused. "Ah - there was a woman asking after you, earlier."

"A woman?"

"A Wood Elf. She said your friend Miles was injured when the gate rose, and that you should go to him as soon as possible." A sympathetic look. "Many coming in and out were, this morning. It took much of the afternoon for the guards to hunt down wandering daedra."

I hardly heard her. A Bosmer - Telaendril.

Miles. _Lucien._

"I have to go."

Before I knew it I was outside, running down the dimming streets to the house that concealed the Sanctuary. Puffing for air with Luke at my side, my satchel still damp and clinking with remnants of broken glass.

_After what he did, what he said_, I scolded myself. _You're running back to him?_

_It's not like I have a choice._

_And what if you did?_

My step slowed, just for a moment. What if I _did_ have a choice? Would I let him suffer? How severe was it? How badly was he hurt? Would I let him, _no,_ don't think that...

And that unspoken fear answered my question for me. I wouldn't. Even for my anger, I would go to him. If he needed me I'd go, even if I couldn't - _wouldn't_ \- be what he wanted.

Because, perhaps...

No, I didn't dare hope. But I ran faster anyway.


	66. Chapter Sixty-Six

"_There_ you are."

"Ocheeva – " I skidded to a stop in the Sanctuary proper, panting to catch my breath as Luke stopped just behind. "Where's Lucien? What _happe_ – "

The words died in my throat. I'd never grown close to the Argonian but since I'd healed her brother, since I'd killed the traitor, she'd treated me with some courtesy. Some small measure of respect.

Not now. Not in that stare, so full of cold fury it froze me in place. Only when I fell silent did she turn, beckoning me with the arch of a claw.

It was like when I'd first arrived again, when she'd demanded I address her as a superior. When I was nothing but an intruder. And feeling the eyes of others on me as we walked through the halls, I knew she wasn't alone in how she saw me now.

Servant. Prisoner. Outsider.

We stopped outside the door to Lucien's own room, rarely occupied given his usual home in Fort Farragut. Inside were shadowed shapes, lit by candles and dimming embers in the hearth. A form still on the bed, someone in the chair beside him. Vicente, and…

"You would do well to remember your place, _healer_." She spat the word. Like I was less for being what I was, less for not wanting more blood on my hands. "You should have been here long ago."

"I was – " Another glare stopped me short, made me choke on my words. I swallowed them back, brittle and sharp like glass, before dipping my head. Luke pressed his cold nose against my palm. "… _Yes_, ma'am."

She strode off. I kept my head down, watching out of the corner of my eye as Vicente stood to make his way out. He paused beside me, and I braced myself.

A gentle hand on my shoulder.

"It isn't lethal, Dust. With your work, he will be fine. I gave him one of your opiate potions for the pain. Thank you for coming."

Relief and anger and guilt all at once, bubbling over in a watery, shuddering laugh. "I didn't have much choice, did I?"

"No. But you would regardless."

He knew me well, almost better than I did myself. I blinked away tears, daring to look up now. "I'm not so sure you told the truth, about vampires not reading minds."

A small, kind smile. He inclined his head, then his gentle touch slid away as he left me, alone with no further distractions from what lay ahead.

Luke glanced back at me, red eyes wide, then into the silent chamber. Another take and he stepped inside, leading the way.

He was asleep, mercifully. Both for me _and_ for him, I realized with a wince. One of my ointments covered ugly burns, melted and scorched flesh on his forearm, his neck and beneath his jaw, trailing down his bare chest. There one could almost make out the shape of his attempt to stop the flame, throwing his arm up in defense.

_Thank the gods Vicente had the sense to give him something. He must have been in agony._

_If I had _been_ here –_

_No. No, I have every gods-damned right to live my life. I can't be everywhere at once_. I squeezed tears free now, inhaling deep as I moved to gather what I needed. Fresh water, another jar of ointment, ingredients for a salve. Pushing away the guilt, letting the familiar scents take me to another place.

_Another patient, Dust. Just another patient. _I drew a deep breath, steeling myself._ Get to work._

Luke curled up by the hearth as I did what I needed. Washing my hands first, then the film of moisture and sloughed off skin that was collecting on his wounds. Smoothing on another layer of ointment, preventing infection, then as that sunk in mixing up my salve. Wheat germ, aloe vera, the tiniest pinch of frost salts to soothe the lingering heat.

Running my hands over him, his sinewy arms, his chest dusted with dark hair and littered with scars. Seeing and trying not to see them, to remember which came from where. The harrada? The traitor?

Trying and failing not to remember touching him more sweetly, taunting or responding to his taunts. A hand on his chest, the other sliding into his hair. Lips on his jawline, peppering down his neck. Listening to his breathing after in his arms, soft and slow. Painfully bittersweet, enough to make my hands shake.

_Just another patient._

"Dust."

I stiffened. His hand around my wrist stopped me, voice gentle and hoarse, eyes dazed. I almost didn't recognize him like that. I only knew his gaze as piercing, intense. A repressed shiver. I paused in my work, speaking softly.

"I'm here. Try to sleep, Lucien."

A grumble, low in his throat. He released my hand and, for a moment, I dared hope he'd obeyed the order. But his eyes flickered open again, refocusing on me. "Telaendril… said you were… out of the city."

"I had work for the guild." I kept my voice smooth, professional. Winding bandages first around his forearm, sealing my work against the devastated flesh. _Once they're on him, I can heal him properly. That's it, focus._ "How did this happen?"

"A Flame Atronach. Leaving… the Fort." He spoke slowly, brow furrowed, eyes closing. My potion was doing its work, leaving him numbed and sluggish. I took a breath to tell him not to fight it but he continued, fingers curling into a fist. "A stray, from the… gate. I dispatched it. It… _engh_…" A hiss as I tied off the bandage, smoothing it down. "Sithis… it _exploded_…"

That explained the burns, the pockmarked spots where fire salts must have sunk into his skin. "…You should try to sleep."

A grumble. "Slept for hours." His eyes met mine now, lips parted as he searched for words. "You _drugged_ me."

His expression so befuddled, the accusation so blunt. I blinked, and before I knew it I was laughing – half indignant, half amused, and still trying to keep tears at bay. "I did no such thing." A deep breath, keeping the emotion that threatened out of my voice. "Vicente gave you one of my potions, for the pain."

"By proxy, then." A low laugh in his throat. "_Nefarious,_ pet." Familiar, too familiar. Too close to how it had been, before I'd refused them. Too tempting to fall into the fantasy and laugh, taunt him right back, pretend…

"… I'm going to heal you, now. Give the balm a push."

I trailed my fingertips along the new bandages, letting my magicka well up. Heal, seal, encouraging vigour and energy as I felt my own sap away.

Tired. _Gods_, I was tired. The trek up and down the mountain, the necromancers, healing Astarill and now this. My head throbbed, pain carving in and sliding out. I wanted to sleep. I wanted to march off and keep_ hating _him, I wanted things to go back to how they were…

"What _happened?"_

I woke from my thoughts to see him watching me, words sharp, eyes sharper. Focused on my chest – on my collarbone, the ugly wound there. I touched it gingerly, pulling up the neckline of my blouse to hide it.

"Lucien, you need to – "

"_No,"_ came the growl, eyes narrowing under slanted brows. He took my wrist again, less gently this time, sitting up with a snarl of pain as I winced. The other moved to my chest, carefully brushing the scarring over my breast with calloused fingertips.

"I'm fine. The guild sent me on work. There were necromancers. We handled it."

A hiss through his teeth. He lay back somewhat again, but his hand slid instead upwards – over my throat to my cheek, holding my gaze. A shivery thrill passed through me. I clenched my jaw to keep it from trembling.

_Why is he…__?_

_He's drugged. He's not thinking straight. You can't take it seriously_. I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment, praying no tears came again. _Just another patient._

"I had thought…" His murmur drew me out of my thoughts. I sniffled, trying to hide everything I'd been thinking. His voice deadpan, a sneer curling his lip. "They would send you to pick _flowers."_

I couldn't help it. A watery laugh burbled up, escaping me again. _You can't do this, you know it's not like this anymore._ "They did."

_Your work is done._ We slipped into silence again, only the low crackle of the fire and Luke's snores filling the room. _You did your job. Go _home,_ gods dammit, go -_

"Necromancers."

I didn't pull away. "Yes."

A pause. A slow grin slithered onto his features, even as his eyes remained shut and his head tilted back, half dozing. "Did you try to_ seduce_ one?"

"_Lucien!__"_

"Given your… _history _with them…"

"You're _insufferable."_ Teasing, he was _teasing_ me. Like before I'd made my choice, before my argument with him. I knew I should go, I _knew _staying would only make it hurt more when he was lucid again but…

His fingers curled against my cheek. "You fought them. Killed them."

I winced, remembering the look on the woman's face as my dagger found its mark. "… We didn't have much choice. They were killing hunters, unearthing graves. They would've killed us, too."

A soft rumble of a sigh. "You would kill for them." His voice was harder now, eyes narrowed. "But not for us."

I'd been expecting it, but it still hurt. I took his hand and lowered it back to his lap, looking away. "… If they told me to kill an innocent, I'd have refused. And you _would_, Lucien. Sooner or later."

"Innocent. All this time with us… and you still think there are _innocents."_ A brief show of teeth in a sneer, a shake of his head before he regarded me neutrally again. "… Your mother said as much. That you could… never follow her footsteps."

My breath shuddered out. "… She was right." Remembering the gate outside again, the crimson glow and the quaking of it, remembering her blank eyes. "But I'm going to do what she said."

An arched brow. I let my shoulders slump even as I lifted my chin, willed strength into my voice. "I'm trapped because of who she was, what she did. But I'm going to try and make the best of it, in my own way." I dared meet his gaze then, jaw clenched. "… No matter what you think, Lucien."

"Dust…"

"I'll deliver the potions and I'll be here when the Family needs me, when _you_ need me, but I'm still going to _be _me, do you understand?" It all flooded out at once, wavering in spite of myself. I sucked in a breath, clenched my hands. "I can't follow her footsteps, or yours, even if…"

Even if I'd loved them both, so dearly.

Gods _dammit_ all. I loved this bastard, watching me now in silence with hooded eyes. More than romance, more than desire. I still did, even knowing how _stupid_ it was. How inevitably doomed.

I couldn't change. Neither could he. But somehow, I still didn't want to move.

It began so soft I hardly heard it. Another soft chuckle, not sneering but genuine now. "Even in the face of death, you'd refuse to bend."

I felt a small smile curl, bittersweet. "… I don't want to die. I'll obey the tenets, do as I'm told. But there's not much point to living if my life isn't even _mine,_ is there?"

"You want to heal. The guild. Your potions."

"Yes." My passion for alchemy, my desire to heal and create, I couldn't quell them. I didn't want to. But I pursed my lips, flickering my eyes back to his, up and down. "… But that doesn't mean I _don't_ want this."

The fogginess in his eyes had faded, clear and sharp now as he gazed back. Slowly his fingertips found my arm, grazing up, sending warm ripples in their wake. From the ends of my hair down, tingling. They fell away and he sank back into the bed, eyes drifting shut as he rumbled. "You've done your work. You may go."

"What if…" Stupid,_ stupid_, but couldn't I have both? "… What if I choose to stay?"

A single eye opened, the twitch of a smirk at the corner of his lip. "I am hardly in the condition to stop you, pet."

Warmth bloomed in me, fragile hope even knowing this couldn't possibly last. He wasn't thinking straight. But his eyes, holding mine as his fingers grazed my shoulder – his eyes were so clear now.

Coaxed down I relaxed against him, careful to mind the bandaged burns as I settled. Head against his chest, the crook of his arm nestling me in. Beneath the sharp, bitter scent of the salve I caught his own.

What had I once thought of myself? Like a moth to a flame. I came as close as I dared, but inevitably, I'd get burned, wings singed away. If I wanted freedom, this was a dangerous dance.

But maybe I could enjoy the warmth, just for a little while.


	67. Chapter Sixty-Seven

"It's funny, isn't it?"

I sit up on a bed of straw and furs, feeling it crinkle and press beneath me. It's warm, deliciously warm despite the cold whistling outside. Anya breathes behind me, steady and still. I don't know where maman is. I don't think to, seeing papa's slender silhouette by the fire, hunched on a stool.

"Whass funny, papa?"

"Distillation." He pulls something so pretty out of the hearth, the metal glowing red from the heat, the glass clear even as smoke sputters out. A retort – papa hasn't told me that, but I know it's a retort. He caresses it, face grey, eyes dark. "The impure is evaporated, leaving nothing but the pure behind. But what_ is_ pure?"

"Yes, papa." I'm annoyed with him, faintly. I know this already, I've studied it for years. My little hands dimple in my lap as I wring them.

"Alchemy coaxes the impossible. It makes two opposites find their common ground and join in a whole." He looks at me and a shudder of fear passes through, ice-cold down my back, because he's not him anymore - it's Bolor, the usually vibrant crimson of his eyes replaced by black hollows.

I realize I don't belong here, this hut in High Rock, but suddenly I'm not 'here' anymore – I'm at the University, my colleagues blank-faced and scribbling around me. _Literally _blank, their faces flat and empty like the sheets of parchment they desperately fill.

"Bolo – _Professor_ – "

"The mortar and pestle are the simplest tools of the trade – to reduce, to grind. To take something and make it finer, more flexible." He stares at me, _through_ me, churning the pestle into the mortar he holds hard enough to grind like angry teeth. "It's so much easier to accommodate what's been worked down."

"I don't understand – "

"You will, darling." Maman,_ maman_ is here, and I want to reach for her but I'm stuck fast. Impaled, dangling above a pit of corpses in a tower of red. But she doesn't reach for me, no – her arms are full, a cauldron in her arms, how is she cradling it? It must be so heavy, such a burden. "The cauldron. Bowl, vacuum, womb, where creation takes place. But you well know that, don't you?"

The hook doesn't hurt, bloodlessly speared through my chest, but I want so badly just to hold her. I reach, kicking my feet, feeling my throat burn with bile and my eyes burn with tears. "Maman - "

I kick too hard. I'm upside-down, toppling into that pit of corpses and, in horror, I realize I know them all. Every single face. Lucien, Antoinetta, Vicente, Ocheeva, all of the family-not-family I've made. Tar-Meena, Bolor, my new partner. Maman, papa, _me_, all of me screaming as I topple and the chorus of voices speak in a quake.

"You've been ground down into Dust and burned into something purer." The grief that made my name rings true, the heat of Oblivion spitting in my face. "The question is…"

The multitude of voices shift, becomes rougher, stronger, whole. A chuckle in my ear as I sink into the dark.

"_What are you trying to make?"_

"_Wait!"_

"Whatever it is, lass, remember." The voice spoke soothingly, a strange comfort as I spiraled. "Ye've done this _so _many times before."

I've – I cling to the words, desperate for truth, for answers, for anything. But…

"Dust. _Dust_."

I didn't jerk awake. Reality came slow, sluggish, creeping in with the hand on my shoulder shaking me. It only made me burrow deeper into the pillow, clinging to that comforting, warm peace sleep might offer. I'd dreamed something, hadn't I? Faces, voices. Something about a mortar and pestle…

"_Duuusty_-doo!"

But already that greyness was slipping away, taking with it any memories of the dream I'd had. With a groan I roused, rubbing at my eyes, faintly surprised to find I wasn't in my own bed. No – an unfamiliar one, still smelling like the balm and…

_Oh._

But only Antoinetta and Luke were in the room with me, the latter at the foot of the bed, the former crouching over me. My nose twitched – she held a plate, forcing my hungry senses and stomach wide awake. "G'morning, sleepy-head! Well, _afternoon."_

I accepted the plate without thought, immediately diving in and mumbling through a mouthful. Sausage, hash, toast. _Mm_. "G'morning, Netta." I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment, then groaned. "… _Wait_, it's that late?"

"The Listener said to let you sleep. I guess you needed it – we could all hear you snoring. Slow down!" A snicker from her as I ate, damn near biting off her fingers when she stole a sausage for Luke. I'd hadn't eaten since the afternoon before, after all, and healing always left me tired and hungry.

Still, I felt vaguely ashamed even as I licked the greasy feeling off my lips. "_Mmn._ Should've opened shop hours ago."

"It's _fiiine._ You need a day off!" I made room as she scooted in next to me, peering at me with a tilted head. "You look it, anyway. And Tel said you were gone yesterday. Guild work?"

"Mmn." I finished with the toast, tossing a few squares of potato in Luke's direction. A blink and they were gone, caught mid-air before he settled too. "My partner was injured. Had to heal him, then come home and heal Lucien…"

"What did they make you do?"

A pang at the thought of last night, bittersweet as the smile that came with it. "… Pick flowers."

"Well, we'll take it easy today. We haven't got to chat in forever. It'll be fun!" A beam. She'd forgiven me, it seemed. She took the plate and, before I could protest, set it down at the foot of the bed for Luke to 'clean' with gusto. She continued over the wet smacks and grunts he gave. "I've got a _fantastic _idea for a recipe we could do, and Teinaava showed me a new card game to try, and – "

"Finally awake, are you?"

I paused, almost bumping heads with Antoinetta as we both looked at the cracked door. It yawned open, Telaendril behind it with a hand on her hip.

"I…" It occurred to me how this had to look. Waking up late, with greasy fingers and rumpled robes, in the bed of their _leader_. I swallowed hard, tried to look at least a little less bleary-eyed. "I hadn't meant to…"

"They're looking for you outside." In the same moment she began to speak I saw movement out of the corner of my eye – Antoinetta, making a strange face and sawing a finger over her throat. _What...?_

"Who is?"

"The City Guard. There was another attack from the gate this morning – they're recruiting healers now. They have a tent set up outside the gate for the injured." She arched a thin brow at her sister, and this time I was_sure_ I caught her index finger now to her lip. _Shushin_g her? She caught me looking and grinned, guiltily putting her hands back behind her.

"… Thank you." I waited for her to be out of earshot before shooting Netta a glare. "What was that?"

The most innocent eyes on the face of Nirn. "Whot?"

"_That._ Why didn't you want her to tell me?" I slid out of the bed as I spoke, stretching with a sigh and a wince. Sore all over, dammit. That hike the day before hadn't done me any favours, my chest still aching from the wound even healed. She watched me move with a pout, brows knotting.

"… They can make do just fine without you."

"They _can't,_ Netta. The only healers in town I know of are the chapel healers and me." Shoes first, then my cloak pulled off a nearby chair. Lucien's basin was still half full – I washed my hands and splashed at my face, doing my best to look at least somewhat presentable. _Should I run home and change? These robes must stink of sweat and blood…_

"Well, then, they should have fought smarter. Fat-faced _idiots_."

"Antoinetta – " I let annoyance flare in my voice, giving a hard stare as I fastened my cloak. Both anger and hurt in the look she returned, making me soften with a sigh. "… I have to go. I'm sorry. We'll bake another day, alright? I have to help."

"You don't _have_ t'do anything!" She launched from the bed now, throwing up her arms as she circled around me. "You don't owe them _anything_. You don't owe _anyone _out there a single thing!"

The irritation returned, caustic. "But in _here_ I do."

She didn't understand, rolling her eyes. "And that's why you should _stay!_ I was so scared you wouldn't come help Lucien, after what happened – "

"Of _course_ I – "

"And you did, and you should, but you can't help _everyone,_ Dust!" Frustration made her voice coarse, made her pretty face twist. "If you keep giving away everything, you'll have nothing left for _you_!"

"You mean _you_ and the Brotherhood," I snapped back. Fully prepared to grab Luke and leave but _dammit,_ the beginnings of tears in her eyes. Dammit, dammit, _dammit._ "… I'm sorry, Netta, I _am_. But people could be hurt. Not just guards," I countered when she opened her mouth. "Citizens who volunteered to help protect the city."

"_Why?"_

Luke stood now, half-sliding off the bed to wind against my side with a groan. I pat him as I thought how to try and explain. "… Those people volunteer to protect us for the same reason I'm going to heal. For the same reason I came back for Lucien."

Her face scrunched up. "You came back to Lucien because you have to, and you _care _about him. You don't even know these people."

"I came back because it was the right thing to do. I'm going out there because I'm a healer." Something niggled at the back of my mind, like a whisper tickling my ear. Making the impossible combine…

A growl of frustration, but softer now. "That's not how the world _works,_ Dusty. People aren't always good just because they should be, or my work wouldn't happen, would it?"

I managed a smile. "No, you're right. But maybe if it did, we wouldn't need your work at all. It's worth trying. Even if it only helps a little."

"Don't put me out of a job," came the retort. I chuckled as she rolled her eyes, arms crossed and looking away. "_Fine,_ do-gooder. Let them bleed you dry. See if I care."

Another thump of Luke's heavy body against my legs made me think. "… Do you want Luke to keep you company?" A whine from below. "I doubt they'd welcome him in the healing tent anyway, not very sanitary…"

"Fine. I'll watch him." She scratched his head, glaring back at me and giving a toss of her hair. "_Ugh._ I finally meet someone to talk to and she's a stupid bloody _saint_."

"We'll talk soon, Netta, I promise_._ We'll make a day for it." On an uncertain whim I reached for her, caught her in a one-armed hug. She stiffened, then met it with a weary sigh and pat my back. "…I promise."

A squeeze back, the gesture so different from her words. "Go on, then. I hope you get eaten by scamps."

I ran. Back home first, gathering up healing supplies, potions and ingredients before leaving my stained satchel at the door and running upstairs. No time for a proper wash, but at least a quick change of clothes for hygiene's sake –

I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and saw what Netta had. I _did _look tired. Bags under my eyes, drawn and weary, the still-healing wound on my collarbone an ugly pinkish scar and a faint brown bruise on my jaw. Hair a mess, stinking of blood and sweat. _Gods,_ I looked awful. Like I'd been beaten and through hell…

Ground up and burned, the mortar, the retort, the cauldron.

I jerked back from the mirror, wide-eyed, blinking at myself again as the dream I'd forgotten rushed in. The faces lecturing me, teaching me what I already knew, but in riddles I couldn't fathom. Telling me I'd been pulverized and burned…

_What are you trying to make?_

"I don't know." I breathed my answer foggy against the mirror_. I don't know. I want to be myself, I want to heal and create. I can't kill. I can't destroy, not like they can. But I want them, too._

_I want…_

I didn't have time to question it. Those thoughts would have to wait, a muddle in the back of my mind as I grabbed my things. A crate of healing potions in arm and I was making my way across the city at a breathless jog.

Guards. I'd never seen so many out before – running patrols through the streets, walking the high city walls, grouped around the exit and urging people away. I surfaced from my thoughts and pushed my way through the crowd, catching shouts and demands all the while.

"We have a right to know what's happening!"

"When was the last attack? Was it this morning?"

"You can't keep us locked in here! What if they get in!? We'll be trapped!"

"They say it was cultists, you know, red-robed madmen chanting…"

My blood ran cold. Mad cultists? I slowed as I moved past a cluster of lumber workers, their voices low. "Yeah, s'what I heard. What do you expect in a city of Dunmer? No offence, Larthas."

"Offense _taken, _you fetcher. It wasn't one of us, I promise you that. This has the stink of the House of Troubles all over it. They say the gates lead to Oblivion, and Oblivion is the realm of Dagon."

A bare moment of relief. It wasn't my cultists…

_Mine? _

Were they any different? Would they, if given the chance, cause chaos and fear in Sheogorath's name? They seemed so bright, so wonderful, but was that only because they saw me as one of them now? The same guilt I felt with the Dark Brotherhood swelled in my throat, swallowed back down.

How could I be here, wanting to help people, and yet associate with those who would hurt them, who shunned them and this pedestrian world I'd made my home in? _Hypocrite,_ came the self-loathing hiss, but I bit my tongue and moved on.

_Concentrate, dammit. Focus. _

"Excuse me – " Between gossiping lumberjacks, "Pardon me, please – " A portly older woman with hands on her hips, reminding me for a strange moment of Madame Tucket, "_Please_, let me by!" A pair of Orcs looking cross by a load of crates. I stepped delicately over them and at last caught sight of the gate, and the guard in front of it. He looked over my head, addressing the crowd.

"Only members of the city guard or recruited militia are to leave the city. We are on lockdown until further notice – please, return to your homes!"

"You _s'wit,_ we have work to do!"

"I'm supposed to be receiving an entire_ cart_ of goods for the store – "

I could sympathize, knowing my own shipments of vials and ingredients would be delayed, but this took precedence. I took a deep breath, steeling myself before closing in almost nose-to-nose with the poor man before he seemed to see me, blinking. A sigh, face blank, and he prepared to launch into the same spiel.

"Only members of the – "

"I'm sorry, I was told you were looking for me. I'm a healer – you're recruiting healers?"

Relief flitted across his face. "Thank Mara, they've been looking for you all morning. We need all the hands we can get. Stand back!" A shout to the crowd as another guard opened one side of the portcullis a crack, gesturing me through as another wave of protests began.

"What? Why does _she_ get to go through!?"

"My brother in Chorrol – "

"I have a_ business_ to run – "

"Stand back, stand back! _Only_ members of the city guard or – "

The noise cut off behind us with the heavy thud of the door. And some sixty feet down the cobblestone road…

The gate.

Smaller than the one in Kvatch, I realized now, but no less ominous. Wooden pikes and makeshift defenses had been built around it, guards at the ready. Not just guards, though – indeed the recruited militia, those brave enough to take up their own weapons. I saw no sign of my partner from the guild mission, but one familiar face met mine. He approached, giving a smile that didn't feel right out here with this threat breathing over our shoulders.

"Miss Dust." Farwil, the count's son. No longer in finery but proper mail and armour, a sheathed sword at his hip. "I'm surprised to see you out here."

"I'm – " A hard swallow, trying to pull up moisture in my dry mouth. The distant crackling, the smell of sulfur, the sight of roiling orange-red, all of it made my head swim. All of it brought me back to that terrible tower. "… I'm to help with the healing effort."

"Ah, and you're helping _us, _as well!" A toothy grin, flashed to a group of men behind him before returning to me. I vaguely remembered, from their crest – the Knights of the Thorn, the band he led himself. "We've all used your poisons on our blades. We're about to test them out. On as many monsters as they can throw at us," A shout over his shoulder now, raising his sword. "Isn't that _right,_ men!?"

"_Huzzah!_ Glory to the Knights of the Thorn!"

"Any last-minute tips for us, madame, before we dive in to face hell itself?"

"I – " No, no, _no._ I'd made the shock poisons at his request after he got me out of the dungeons, but I never thought this grinning, somehow charmingly arrogant man would – "You're going in? _Now?"_

"Of course! They say there's a way to close the gates, and we Knights of the Thorn took a vow to defend Cheydinhal and her people from _any_ threat. It is our sworn duty. And of course, we're no cowards to run from a glorious victory." A little bow of his head, a chuckle. "Wish us luck, Marquess."

"Good…" Already he was turning away, loudly cheering to his men as they returned the cry. Pursing my lips, taking a step back and willing my words to have power. "… Good luck."

"Dust!"

Another familiar face, this one sinking with relief as she strode quickly to meet me. I turned to her, shifting the weight of my satchel and managing a smile. "Ohtesse, I'm so _sorry_ I wasn't here earlier – "

"It's alright, of course. You're here now, that's what matters. Please, if you're ready – "

I followed her towards a few tents. It reminded me of Kvatch, again on a much smaller scale, like the healing tents and refugee camps they'd set up. We entered the largest. I squinted through the new dimness.

Pallets, and many patients on them. Perhaps a dozen, some cradling wounds with groans and winces, others still in drugged sleep. The Nordic man, Hil, whom I'd met in the chapel. The scents of liniments and balms, boiled water and bandages…

"I'm ready. Just tell me what you need me to do."

We had our work cut out for us. I was tasked first with making an antivenin, treating poison – one poor woman had fought a Spider Daedra, her leg punctured by nasty little teeth from its spawn even through the mail. Thumb-sized boils, soothed as best I could as she breathed through her teeth and blinked away tears. Some relief when at last they began to shrink, when the poison released its hold and her fever fell, but no time to celebrate. Still more with burns, fractal scars from spells, slashes from vicious swords, melted flesh and charred bone…

I couldn't tell in the tent what time it was. My sore back from hunching told me hours had passed. But, at last, our patients were cared for. Many of them sleeping, Ohtesse telling me with a quiet smile that my analgesics worked wonders. Others half-awake and talking to their comrades-at-arms while Ohtesse, Hil and I at last took a moment to do the same.

"There's no predicting when there could be another attack…" Ohtesse sighed, glancing at the tent flap before pulling together a smile. "But at least we'll be more prepared."

"Aye. And with a little luck, our brave knights will be back any minute." A wry half-smile from the Nord, even as a nearby guard scoffed. I frowned at him before catching Ohtesse's expression, one of concern, softened as she met my eyes.

"… Some of the City Guards believe the Knights – _underqualified _for something like this. But in any case, all we can do is pray for their safe return." Ohtesse gave me a gentle smile, soothing. Little wonder she was so well-loved, in Cheydinhal. "I heard you helped equip them, yes?"

"Shock poisons, yes."

"And explosives!" Hil grinned, a deep chuckle under his breath as one of the patients stirred. "Saw one of the guards throw 'em. The crackle! How'd you make 'em?"

"It's funny, actually. The poison was simple enough, but to make an actual explosion of shock magic…" It was all too easy to talk about my beloved craft, letting that cloud everything else on my mind. "I had to make void salts cooperate. Alone, they wouldn't react. But when purified and combined with cairn bolete and just a little ectoplasm – "

Bolor's voice in my head, an echo of the dream and a shiver down my back. _Alchemy coaxes the impossible. It makes two opposites find their common ground and join in a whole._

_Ye've done this so many times before._

"Dust?" Ohtesse's frown swam back into view, a hand on my shoulder. "Are you alright? It's been quite a long day. If you need to go home, we can – "

"No, no. I'll help with the last round of bandage changes." More of our patients were beginning to stir, groaning in discomfort. "Then, I need to go find…"

"_Mushrooms?"_

By the time we'd finished my mind was made up. Hil volunteered to stay the night in case he was needed, Ohtesse escorted back to the chapel to trade off in the morning. I stayed back, making my excuses, giving a lie that came almost too easily now to the poor man before me.

"I used my entire stock to make burn salves." It wasn't a total lie. Still, the guard looking over me scoffed, glancing at the roiling gate. No sign of another attack, these past hours – a few lesser daedra wandered through, but no organized assault.

Then again, there was no sign of the Knights, either.

"This time of night? There could still be Daedra wandering loose, the gate could – Talos sake, are you _mad_?"

_You have no idea_. I bit back an uncertain laugh. "If there's another attack, we'll need them."

"It can't wait until morning?"

I shook my head, pursing my lips. He looked ready to tear his hair out. Or tear my head off. I couldn't blame him, a flicker of guilt and sympathy as he squeezed his eyes shut and sighed through gritted teeth. "We don't have the manpower to give you an escort. Don't go any deeper than you have to, run at the first sign of trouble and stay _well_ away from the damned gate, you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"I'll tell the night shift to expect you." A huff under his breath as he stalked away. "_Batty_ damned mages."

I watched after him as he strode back to the city, back to the barracks. Back to a hot meal, a cool drink, a warm bed. _Gods,_ all those sounded tempting. But, no.

The creaking woods shrouded me, a little ivory ball from my drumming fingers all the light I dared. A chorus of frogs, crickets, rustling reeds as I neared the river, the background to a whisper from yet another memory, further back still. _'You must be your own light in the dark._

It had sounded so wonderful, then. The glimpse of something brighter, of inspiration. Of freedom and possibility. Of an identity of my own beyond my father's teachings, my mother's painful legacy. And even here, not quite in the ruin but alone in these woods, I could feel its pull. The night had cast a deep purple shroud over the forest, but specks of light bled through – little fireflies, humming through the trees like tiny lanterns, or fallen stars caught on a midnight breeze. Here the river widened, went quieter, and as I walked alongside it I could see my dark silhouette beside me.

_What are you trying to make?_

It was one thing to know I wanted something. It was another to consider what I might have to sacrifice to get it – or if, in some way, I could hold on to both. And who else could I ask but them?

_Blessed are the Madmen, for they hold the keys to secret knowledge._


	68. Chapter Sixty-Eight

I suppose it was pure luck that they didn't notice me.

Just as I had begun to push open the stone entrance, I heard footsteps. Heavy ones, slick-sliding and clattering through the river stones and mud. The hiss of a sword cutting reeds, guttural laughter.

Guards?

No.

Pure luck that I thought to dive into the scrub and crouch, holding my breath. The footsteps came closer still, voices now accompanying them. A gritty, ugly tongue that swirled and distorted on itself in the air, words I couldn't understand but gave me everything I needed to know.

Dremora.

No, no, _no_ – I pressed myself down into the reeds and brush as hard as I could, not even daring to reach for my dirk knife. What good would it do me? If I was lucky, _gods,_ if I was lucky they'd simply pass on by, return to the gate –

"Humans."

"I smell them too, brother." A long, predatory inhale. "One close."

"Very close."

"Come _out_, little human."

_What do I do? _Terror spiking in me, hot and hard and I couldn't _think, _trembling there in the undergrowth with my cheek against the mud. _What do I do!?_ I'd never outrun them. I didn't stand a chance in a fight, the very thought laughable.

I could only hide, and pray. I would have laughed if not for the terror choking me, flinching as I heard the boots fall. To who?

Not Stendarr, with no belief there to speak of. Not to the Night Mother_, never_. The answer was so clear, as futile as it seemed. All this racing through my head I squeezed my eyes shut and begged.

_Sheogorath, please._ No formal greeting, no ritualistic cant. Pure desperation. _Please, please, don't let me die like this. You said you'd help me, save me, I think I'm just starting to understand, and –_

"There you are, _nithing_."

A gauntleted hand in my hair, dragging me up as I yelped, dangled. I'd seen the Dremora colleagues summoned, I'd seen the ones Lucien had fought but to be _this _close, this helpless brought with it a new level of fear. It held me dangling like back in Oblivion, like maman, not a hook but a twisted, volcanic sword aimed at my belly.

All thought evaporated, like droplets in the sheer heat of fear sizzling, blinding.

_Blinding._

It grinned. "Split and bleed, birthskin."

It was the most instinctive spell I had, thrumming in memory, played on my fingertips. It took hardly a thought, hardly a whisper of magicka to power it, when I lacked a candle or a torch.

This burned like neither. Blinding, shattering like a flash of lightning as I threw it from my palms into their faces. I'd squeezed my eyes shut but they still burned, glowing behind my eyelids. Was I screaming? I didn't know.

They did. Roars of pain. Flying, thrown, skidding through the brush and the mud with reeds slicing at my hands and they were there grabbing at their faces, grabbing at their eyes and howling in Daedric and _I'm alive, I'm alive, get up get up get up –_

"Have at thee, fiends!"

An unfamiliar voice, pealing out in the dark of the woods. I squinted, still half-blind and blinking through spots of light, only able to see moving shapes and hear guttural snarls.

_What?_

I lay there stunned, time seeming to stand still despite the din until, at last, it went quiet. These footsteps gentler, the voice warm and kind above me.

"Another invigorating battle! Are you quite alright, miss?"

Invigorating. The lights behind my eyes finally seemed to fizzle away as I accepted the offered hand up, laughing weakly. "You – you saved me. You…" I blinked dumbly at the hero Sheogorath seemed to have sent me.

A portly Imperial man, middle-aged with a high, wrinkled brow. A wide smile, his hand still holding mine as I found my footing. A barrel around his otherwise naked middle, from the tops of his knees to under his shoulders where straps held it up, and a bucket atop his head.

"You…"

"Harald the Heroic, at your service, young miss." Blood streaked across the wood of the barrel, dripped from a dimpled chin as he beamed. "There, you're alright. My trusty blade took care of them, have no fear. They won't bother you any longer."

Trusty blade. His 'weapon' hung from a tie on the barrel, gored and splintered and…

"…That's a _broom_."

His brow furrowed, concern creeping into his gaze as he looked me over. "Oh. Oh, _dear_. You must have hit your head rather hard, after all. Do you feel dizzy? We're meant to have a healer come visit us soon, I think…"

A healer. I swallowed back laughter, blinked back tears, certain I'd indeed hit my head and this was all some demented vision. _This_ was the guardian knight Niyaneh had mentioned? "That's me. I – I promised Blue I'd come back."

"What a coincidence! Why don't you come inside?" He moved to the stone door I'd abandoned, finishing my work by driving his shoulder in with a grunt as it scraped open. "He'll want to see you, I think."

It made no sense. It made no _sense._ I saw scuffed dirt, scraping footprints where the battle had taken place but the corpses of the Dremora had vanished, called back to the waters of Oblivion. No way to prove or disprove it, but…

_Impossible._

Eyes stinging, head throbbing, that ridiculous man beckoning me with a smile and I didn't know whether to laugh or cry…

My light spell on my fingertips, just a gentle flicker now to cast back the darkness of the ruin, I followed him inside.

Funny, that a place so ancient could seem so timeless now.

The cultists seemed to live a life all their own, outside the bedlam of the cities or even the quiet routine of villages. Even this late as I wound my way down the stone halls I heard singing. Drumming, laughter, a beat in time with the light spell I played on my fingertips as I had when I'd first come to them, seeking answers. Through the grating in the halls I could see them – circled around the center pool as they had been before, like I'd never left at all.

I almost wanted to just watch, this time. Observe from the outside, a researcher looking over her subjects. But then, I didn't feel very scholarly. I felt dirty, confused and very, very tired. Half-listening to Harald, bucket askew on his head, chatter about his victory until we were greeted – the Dunmer woman Luke had bit, slowing her step as we approached, the one who spoke of scents. Even now she tilted her head, inhaling of us like she was a hound herself.

Her nose wrinkled. "You smell worse than last time." Before I had a chance to be offended she gestured for me to follow. "Come. Blue wants to speak to you."

"I – yes, of course." Only now did I see it – how she measured every footfall, the deep breaths she took in and out as she moved. Her eyes, not the vivid red of most Dunmer, but instead a glassy pink.

I whispered to Harald at my side. "… She's blind?"

"Oh, yes, since birth. But Verana was blessed by our Lord as a child. She gets by just fine!" I pursed my lips, feeling my face go hot in being caught gossiping as the Dunmer looked over her shoulder at Harald's oblivious volume. Still, she only smirked and led the way, down through the dark corridors I was coming to know so well now, back to the main hall.

"Harald!"

"Our hero!"

A flicker of relief that, for now, the attention was off of me. The Imperial man was swarmed, grinning ear to ear with chubby cheeks flushed red in pleasure as everyone gathered round, clapping him on the back. Even that skittish rabbit-woman and the man so afraid of contamination came close enough to cheer for him.

A broom.

_How_?

But it didn't last. Blue placed a hand on his shoulder before moving to me, head raised, Niyaneh busy leading Harald to the water to wash off his 'armour.' "Back so soon, are we?"

"I…" I didn't want to explain everything, not here, not in front of everyone like this. I still had so much to figure out – I knew what I wanted, I knew what I had to make, but I didn't know _how_. How to get to the Isles, or even how to try and make both sides of me fit in the same skin. Surely these people of any would understand, but…

I was afraid.

An excuse stumbled from my lips. "I – I was healing guards injured by the gate, and I thought I should check, make sure everyone here was – "

"Liar."

"I am _not_ – "

"Oh, I've no doubt you'd heal us if we were injured. But that isn't why you've come, _is_ it, sweetmeat?"

My mouth felt filled with clay. I thinned my lips and glowered, unable to argue. He was right. It wasn't honouring our deal that had driven me back here. But neither was I ready to share my strange dream, my fears in front of this crowd. I wanted _answers,_ but this time I didn't know how to ask the right questions. "…You heard about the gate, then?"

"We well know. Harald has been patrolling, defending us."

"They say it was raised by _cultists._ Daedra worshippers."

Laughter. First from Blue-Scales-Shining, then echoing among the small crowd slowly growing around us. Harald stayed at the water's edge washing up, but others strayed to me – the rabbit-woman, Nura with a wave, Verana and Niyaneh hovering back, watching in silence.

Blue shook his head, eyeing me with a mixture of disdain and amusement. "And what? You think us like them?"

"I don't…" The eyes on me felt prying, probing like they were somehow dragging across my skin. I grit my teeth and tried to keep my gaze on him, tried to ignore the others. "I don't want to hurt people. Not like them. If you're like that…"

"You_ know_ we aren't."

I bristled. Dammit, I'd come here for _answers,_ not to be interrupted and antagonized at every turn. "I _don't _know that! I hardly know _anything_ about you – "

"You know enough to have come here wanting us, _needing_ us, and yet so little as to insult us? You come here grasping, then turn your nose up in contempt?" His teeth bared. I stepped back but he closed the distance again, looming. My jaw shook, eyes stinging with the thick heat of embarrassment and anger rising from my chest. "You _know_ what we are, tidbit."

"_Cultists_, like them!"

"They are _destruction!_ They slay, decimate, devour. We may spill blood, we may bring ruin as it suits us but _we_ – " Spittle flew from his maw as he snapped. I had backed against a pillar now, unable to move any further away from the tirade. "… What did Sheogorath offer you, hm? What are His blessings?"

"He…" I could hardly feel my fingers, clenching my jaw so tight it ached to keep it from shaking. "… He offered me freedom, to be myself. His blessings, madness, and…"

"They destroy." The Argonian's rasp seemed to echo. From somewhere in the crowd someone answered, a whisper.

"_We_ create."

A nod of approval, then he turned his gaze back on me. "And you well know it, little crumb. I will not feed into your desperate need for denial."

"_I -!" _

"How long and how far have you been running, prey? How much have you fled and shed in your life? Never committing, never believing, never letting any true meaning take hold of you. Excuses at _every _turn!"

I thought of my refusal of Stendarr, my hatred of the Night Mother. I thought of running from the truth of my father as a girl, of my mother months ago. Running from her god. Running from Lucien, from the ones I loved, unwilling to bind myself and yet unable to stay away. I thought of the Madgod's offer, so tantalizing, so terrifying. "… You're wrong."

"The Madgod _Himself_ came to you and yet here you remain, wallowing in your own head! You don't want to hurt anyone, don't want to dirty your pretty pale hands but _oh,_ you want the rewards, don't you?"

The heat in my chest searing my face now, bright red, fists shaking in tight, white-knuckled balls. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Niyaneh step closer, but the Dunmer stopped her. "I – I don't -"

"You want to be free but you don't dare touch the chain to remove it. You want to escape and yet you_ know_ if you truly accept His gift, truly embrace His blessings, you'll do it alone and you can't bear the thought, can you? Having to stand on your own two legs, for once!"

"_Stop_ it!" I tried, I tried to keep my voice steady but it broke anyway, harsh and raw as I snarled.

"You deny and you quibble and you question, you wonder and you worry because you're a whimpering _child_. You could see the light of truth, but you turn away when it stings your eyes!" He was bellowing now, leaving me locked in place blinking eyes that did burn, desperately now with tears unshed. My breath came short, shallow. "You're a fool. A vain, indecisive, _cowardly_ little – "

It was like all the grief and fear and anger I'd known since all this began exploded out of me. The hurt of my freedom stripped from me, of the truth of my family, of losing maman, of longing for what I couldn't, _shouldn't_ have, all of it ripped through me and I couldn't, I knew, I _knew _-

"_DON__'__T YOU THINK I _KNOW_ THAT!?__"_

Silence. The eyes on me felt like hands, pressing, stroking, prodding me, invasive and clawing as I tried and failed to gulp down sobs. Pathetic, blubbering like an _idiot_ but I couldn't seem to stop myself, chest heaving. "I've been trying, I _have_, I've been trying to learn and understand ever since it all began but it's too much, it's too much, all of it!" The crowd around me stepped back as I began to circle, my voice strung tight and quivering like a bow string, ready to crack.

"My life used to be simple. I was, I was, I was going to make potions and help heal people, in my own way, I wuh-was going to marry the man I loved and make a normal life b-but it was taken from me. And even _then,_ even with mu-murderers and death and being so scared I _tried_, I did, I _tried _to make the best of it, then I fell in love and maman died and I just – "

I was sobbing openly now, clutching at myself as tears streaked hot down my cheeks. Half whispering, mumbling to myself as the others watched. "I can't hu-hurt people like she did, like he does, I _can't._ But I can't be like papa, either, I can't give up everything without lo-_losing _myself and the Madgod, he sa-said I'd suffocate here…"

At long last I went quiet. My throat stung, my chest ached, my head throbbed with the fierceness of the sobs that had escaped me. I hiccupped now, shuddering breaths in and out as I hugged myself tight. I'd come so far. I'd seen so much. The face of the Night Mother, the lava seas of Oblivion, Sheogorath's bloody grin all swam together. A sound I hardly recognized from me, trembling and hoarse. Laughter as I stared up, my words a desperate, amused little whisper.

"Who _wouldn't _go mad?" Blinking, looking bleary-eyed up at the blue crystal lights of the ruin that refracted and glowed through my tears. "Who wouldn't?"

Silence. A dripping, drip-drip-drip behind me in the pool. Little murmurs around me. I shivered there, teeth chattering, ears ringing. Somehow impossibly heavy, yet empty inside.

It was Blue who broke it, a murmur. "Only a madwoman would call herself Dust."

And I laughed.

I laughed, a giggle first then true, bone-deep laughter escaping me, echoing from me. I laughed like I hadn't since before maman died, not the sharp, mad laugh of breaking but true laughter, filling me with lightness and warmth. Tittering through tears as I rubbed at my eyes, grinning, shaking my head. Others laughed with me – Blue a snicker, low and purring, Nura behind me giggling shrill and clapping her hands. Niyaneh sighed in relief, giving a watery smile. Even the Dunmer chuckled, watching-not-watching, nares flaring as she inhaled my emotions.

Exhaustion. Mirth. A shivery, gentle relief, the relief of burdens lifted. I raised my chin, giving a long sigh. "Right. So I'm a mad fool. And a _vain_ one, at that."

"Caught up in who you should be instead of who you _are._ Lost in fear of being lost." Blue had calmed now, regarding me with a wry little grin. "Why do you complicate it, morsel?"

"I don't know." I trembled like I'd overcome a fever, still weak and swaying on my feet. "I'm still afraid."

"You will be, over and over. But you can be afraid of losing yourself, or you can be afraid of whatever comes from the finding." The last syllable came rough, hissing off his tongue in emphasis. "Which would you prefer?"

"I don't want to lose my loved ones." Thinking of Netta, of Vicente, of Anya. Of Lucien. "I don't want to push them away, by doing this. They hold those chains. What if by breaking those, I lose them?"

A shrug from Blue, scaled brow ridge arching. "It wouldn't be a reward without risks, morsel."

There was no avoiding it. I'd come here wanting some excuse to turn away or some answer to fix everything. To take away the uncertainty, the need to make a choice, but there it was.

I could choose safety, comfort, security from within the friendships I'd made, turn my back on everything I believed in so I wouldn't lose them, and lose myself instead. Be a good, obedient servant of the Brotherhood like my mother had been, wishing I could be like my father instead, knowing I couldn't if I wanted to survive. I could wallow in indecision like I had been, torn between fear and need. Or…

Or I could _make_ what I wanted to be. What I took from my father, his generosity, his kindness. From my mother her will, her power.

I could make myself what I wanted to be, if only I endured the pestle and fire.

The crowd thinned some now, enough that I saw movement from the corner of my eye. A whump and suddenly I was warm, surrounded, Nura hugging me and rocking us both, soothing. "Dust! It's okay." A sing-song croon as I laughed helplessly, trying to wipe at my tears from within her arms. "It's okay, it's okaaay…"

"Yes." I giggled, blinking away the last of my tears, breathing deep and slow. A pat on Nura's bulging shoulder. "I'm okay."

And I was.

I was still afraid, but Blue was right. There was no way to _not_ be afraid, no way not to take risks, not if I wanted to be free. And if they in the Brotherhood resented me, hated me for it…

Then had they ever been mine to lose?

Nura gave my brow a wet kiss before pulling back, beaming wide and blinking away tears of her own with a sniffle. "You're okay?"

"Yes." Somewhere beneath that bushy brow I saw her, the eyes of the child she believed – no, _knew_ herself to be. "Thank you, Nura."

She sniffled again, lips pursing, brow furrowing. "… You smell really bad."

"Awful." My laugh was interrupted as the hawkish Breton man strode over, grabbing my arm without a care for propriety or personal space. As I stared he looked me over, examining my hand and clucking his tongue. "Perspiration, blood, caked earth, no. Dirt under the fingernails. Grass. This won't do, not at all."

The Dunmer stood nearby watching, head tilted, nares flaring. A slow smile crept on her lips as I returned her gaze. "You smell like peace."

I wondered what peace smelled like, to her. Cool, blue spring skies after a gentle rain, newly turned blankets, understanding and acceptance. A chuckle as I moved to extract myself from the crowd, finding my footing again. "Thank you. Thank you all."

"There." Now it was Niyaneh who weaved through the cluster around me, giving the Breton a little glare until he skittered off and reaching to pull stray grass out of my hair. "There we are. You understand, mn?"

"I – I think so." I blinked back tears of relief, wiping at my face and streaking mud across my cheek in the process. "There's no way to not be scared, no way to not take risks. But if I can – endure it…"

"There is never a guarantee of getting what you want." A lopsided smirk as she thumbed off some of the river clay. "But you, and only you, can decide who you want to be."

And only I could decide, as I did here and now, that whatever the price – it would be worth it.

"Come here."

The crowd parted now to let me through, joining Blue at the edge of the pool. Lit only by torches and the azure crystals of the ruin, it seemed to somehow glow with a light all its own. My reflection in it seemed drab, by contrast – tired and filthy. But smiling. And I smiled wider in turn.

"Sometimes, morsel, there's only one way to learn."

A foot on my back. A sudden push. I caught his snicker, his words just before I broke the surface.

"By taking the plunge."

It was breathtakingly cold but in a wonderful way, thrilling and tingling, leaving my gasping as I swam back up. Soaked, of course, utterly soaked like a drowned cat, kicking myself back to the edge to glare up at Blue who only smirked.

"Are you learning yet, tidbit?"

I spat up water, glowering and huffing a sigh before accepting the hand he offered to help me back up. I tightened my grip. A tug and then it was _Blue_ who was squawking, hitting the water beside me with a spectacular crash as all around the cultists laughed and whooped and joined us, jumping in themselves.

I met Blue as he surfaced with a grin of my own, awake, _alive_. "I think so."

Then I sank back, and let my worries wash away for just a little while.


	69. Chapter Sixty-Nine

"How does Harald do it?"

At peace and relaxed, I let the water carry me. Floating on my back and gazing up at the crystal lights of the ruin, glinting and glimmering in the dark. Blue did the same nearby, silent, almost seeming to doze. Only as I spoke did he flicker an eye open, half-listening. "He killed the dremora, but – not with a broom, surely. Does he summon a sword?"

"Does it matter? He saved you."

"It – it doesn't matter, no, I'm still grateful for what he did, but I don't understand _how _he did it. It makes no sense." The reflection of the water shimmered on the distant ceiling, on towering pillars, ethereal and beautiful. I let myself sink back upright on my feet, sleeves billowing under the surface. Even for all those using it, for the blood and muck that drifted off of us, the water stayed so perfectly clear.

A soft laugh. No longer did my questions frustrate me – instead they left me with wonder. _"Nothing_ here makes sense."

"It does to him. It is his duty to protect us, and this place. That is all he needs to know for it to be true."

"But it – isn't _true_."

"Isn't it?"

I felt the tingle of magicka, strong and heady, lacing through the water in a pull that swept it away. Ripples, droplets falling in a quiet, uncertain beat. Blue smirked over me, arms cast out, taking a little bow as I grinned. I hadn't forgotten how he'd made the water dance with us when we'd brought out the drums, churning and rolling like an ocean of delight.

"What your petty little school would classify as 'alteration magic' – how much do you know of it?"

"Bits and pieces." I thought of the magic that nudged the water to allow me to walk it, let me breathe beneath it. Opening locks, flaring candles – almost parlor tricks, compared to some magic I'd seen. "I know the basics, at least."

"You ask forces, unknown forces, to simply accept the push of your will rather than resist. But no one has attempted to _name _these powers, not to ask or beguile but to control them outright." His tongue peeked out between yellow teeth, flickering. "Reality is a falsehood, yes?"

"I've read it." One of the most well-known tomes of the craft, after all, but… I pursed my lips, drifting backwards now to sit on the stone lip of the pool, feet kicking slowly under the water. "But I don't understand."

"Your reality is not his reality." A jerk of his head back towards Harald, standing now and 'dressing' once more in his barrel. "You breathing beneath the water doesn't stop it drowning others. And if reality is individual…"

"Then it hardly exists at all." Even with his disdain for it, hearing him speak reminded me of the University. Lectures, chiming in with our thoughts, trying to solve the puzzles put before us. "In_ my_ reality, brooms don't kill daedra."

"_Our reality is a perception of greater forces impressed upon us for their amusement."_ He quoted the book with a grin, the tip of his tail gliding along the water's surface as he paced.

A tingle down my back. Cold droplets and understanding. "… Their perception is different. _Everyone_ here is tou – 'blessed' by the Madgod. And because of that they can – what? Change things, to suit their belief?" I met his gaze, slowly feeling the pieces click together. "You think alteration is powered by belief. Strong belief."

"Belief and the will to bring it to life. In Harald's mind he is an undefeated hero, defending those who cannot defend themselves. His reality is absolute. Verana uses scent like most use sight and sees more for it. Nura is the child her father begged her to remain. Where do great works of artists come from, great genius such as mine?" A flash in his yellow eyes and, for a moment, I heard Sheogorath's words echo.

_No genius without a touch of madness, dust speck. _The emptiness when he'd taken his blessing away, the purr as I protested that my own creations had been impossible._ Not with my help, lass._

"From vision! _Perception_." As his hands rose again so too did the water, now coiling like thin, translucent snakes around him, twisting and writhing. ""It is our _perceptions _that shape the world even here on this sad, tedious, mundane little plane! The simple fools of this world accept reality as rote, accept what is laid before them. Never embracing their own power, the power of _change,_ of will, of vision."

I ran a hand through my curls, slicked back, feeling a cool trickle down my nape. A shiver. It – it made sense. It didn't, but it did. If the creative didn't have their visions in the first place, how could they apply them to the world to change it? And alteration worked on the principle of convincing reality it was simply easier to change when asked, to allow a mage to breathe underwater, to shift a lock's mechanisms. Perception changed their reality, or they made their reality match their perception, willed it into being…

Was there much difference?

"So _imagine_!" A roar now before he turned back to me, eyes piercing, voice lowered to a whispered hiss. Around him the snakes whirled, a dizzying display until one by one they crashed back into the water. All around us other cultists stared now, listening to their leader. "_Imagine._ If we can affect this plane with our minds, this tedious material world, imagine a world such as the Madgod's. Imagine the force someone like me would wield."

Imagine.

I stared for a long moment, opening and closing my mouth like a fish out of water before managing to compose myself. The thought that reality, what made everything – everything could be so very tenuous…

And yet I'd felt it waver before, hadn't I? Between worlds, in the gate. At the Night Mother's feet, my own mother wielding a blade. Hearing the traitor whisper desperately in my head, drinking the Madgod's tea. Realities I could never have grasped, never imagined in my life. Sheogorath in my home, the little doll-me dancing on his knee. Feeling a piece of me vanish for that terrible moment, maybe the piece that could _understand _all of this. Him making me realize just how much I needed his gifts of creativity, of seeing the impossible. Of vision.

If reality were so mutable…

"Then why don't we all just imagine what we want?" My words came out a whisper. I trailed my fingers through my reflection, distorting it. "_Make _ourselves what we want to be, if only in our heads."

I didn't look up as his reflection bled into mine, as the ripples refracted and shuddered through us. Whispering, more to myself than him. "Could I make it so maman never died? So that Lucien and I…" A tight swallow, a lump hard and gritty in my throat as I blinked back the sudden sting of tears. "Could I will things back to how they were, before any of this happened?"

A one-sided shrug. "If you were strong enough, perhaps. Most are not."

"But she would still be dead." A shuddering breath out, seeing her in my own face. I'd never looked much like her, really, but there were little things. The black of my hair, the shape of my chin. "I'd just _think_ she wasn't."

"Would it not be functionally the same?"

I imagined it. Imagined her beside me chuckling at my soaked robes, pulling me close and brushing back my hair…

"No." I smiled at her in the water and, with a sweep of my hand, pushed her away. "It wouldn't."

"Perceptions, sweetmeat." He rose out of the water now, using it as a little stepping stool lifting him up to walk easily back onto the floor of the hall. "Most minds cannot grasp the true depth of the power within them. Those blessed by Sheogorath – their eyes are open. I have studied them, and someday I will find my way to His realm."

My grief, my confusion, my exhaustion – I let it leave me, releasing it in a long, low breath. "The Madgod told me I'd lose myself, on this plane. Always being controlled, never…" I pulled my fingers free of the pool now, curling up on the engraved lip. "… Never free."

"Freedom is terrifying. The weak turn from it. The weak prefer ignorance, blindness, comfort in the dark."

But I had to be my own light in the dark.

I couldn't change the perceptions of those around me. I couldn't force them to see my way, to understand, any more than I could force maman alive or the past months wound back in time.

But I could change _myself._ I could live my reality, instead of accepting theirs. Alteration had never been my true craft. It was alchemy that claimed me, that stole my love and attention without peer. Alteration was in the mind, your perception. Alchemy was in the physical.

I could have spent days picking it all apart, wondering; truth and fiction, fantasy and reality, but none of that seemed to matter. Blue's philosophy was fascinating, but abstract. What I took from it was more concrete, more personal.

My life had been for so long at the pull and whim of others. It was time to take it back, make it mine. If I tried, if I believed so firmly as these people did and applied it to the physical as I would in alchemy, my world would shift. I would change, and so my reality would in turn.

Maybe for better, maybe for worse, that was true. There was no reward without risks. But like he had said, the only way to learn…

I left mostly dry not long before dawn, yawning, leaving room in my satchel for the burn salve fungi as inside, several vials of crystal-clear water clinked.

"Dust – Arkay save us, you're a mess!"

I made way back through the forest just as sunrise peeked through the trees, just in time to find I was too late.

The road was still torn and blackened, the scent of a spring morning tainted by sulfur. But the gate – gone. Only a tear in the earth and cobble, the encampment around slowly being packed away.

Ohtesse took my hands in hers and squeezed, lowering to my height. A furrowed brow, voice gentle and pressing. "Dust, did you hear me?"

"Oh, I – yes." Still dazed and tired but happy, feeling so stupidly, utterly _free_. How had it been so simple all along? All a matter of perception. I squeezed back and offered my most reassuring smile. "I'm alright, Ohtesse. I'm sorry, I meant to be back earlier. I got – sidetracked."

"It wouldn't surprise me if you dozed off against a _tree_. You've looked so tired, these past weeks."

"Mmn." I swayed on my feet, looking past her to the empty road, blinking. Only then did it really sink in. "… What…?"

"They did it. They _did_ it." Eyes bright and teary she embraced me, sudden and hard enough that I was at a loss what to do in her arms. "Someone – 'The Champion of Kvatch', they say – went in after the Knights, brought them home. The gate is gone. Thank the Divines."

_Thank Sheogorath_ came the fleeting thought, and I giggled against her. "It's going to be okay."

"It is. They have a few burns and bruises, but nothing Hil and I can't handle. Now _you_…" For the first time I heard a measure of strictness enter Ohtesse's tone, though not without kindness. "Need to go home and sleep."

I chewed my lip a moment as we pulled back, meeting her gaze. "You're certain you don't want…?"

"What _I _want is for you to go get what is clearly a much needed rest and a hot meal." A soft chuckle. She tilted her head, a loose blonde lock tumbling down her brow. "Healer's orders."

"Yes, ma'am." I gave her a grin and we both laughed, both seemed to blink back our tears. My gaze drifted past her and I frowned, watching the solemn Knights grouped together around the remains of the gate.

"… They didn't all make it back."

"… No. I'm afraid not."

I nodded, breath held as I watched them. Heads bowed, swords in hand first blade downwards, then raised in salute. Farwil said something, low and heavy, and there was a chorus of rumbling replies before the group, exhausted, began to split off.

"We'll hold a funerary service tomorrow. They were – unable to recover the bodies, but that isn't what matters. Their spirits will be with Arkay now, to rest and return. As we all someday will."

I watched them march back through the city gates, charred and bruised, talking quietly together. "… What will they do now?"

"Grieve together, I should think. Mourn and honour their comrades, and then…" A small smile. "Live."

_Live._

I'd told Lucien that there wasn't much point in living my life if it wasn't even mine. That I _wanted_ to live, that I would do as I must to survive, but that dammit all my life would still be _mine. _All this time I'd been battered about by the fates of others, by maman, by my own self-made chains of guilt and grief –

How freeing to feel those chains dissolve with nothing but a change of view. Of _perception. _How empowering to think that who I wanted to be could be from both maman and papa and elsewhere still, and still find a way to be whole.

My first stop was the Sanctuary. Ohtesse's order sounded oh so tempting, cold and tired and still damp at the hems, but I had to pick up Luke, first. A pang, remembering how disappointed Antoinetta had been in me. I followed what I felt in my heart was right – I wouldn't change that. It made me who I was, made me happy, whatever that meant. But maybe it wasn't too late to make _her _happy, too. We could go out for breakfast at the inn, chat and laugh like she'd wanted. Like I suddenly felt free to do again.

Not risking the well in broad daylight I made for the basement, trailing to a stop just outside the Black Door. That familiar rumbling that had so frightened me, the carven image of a mother with dagger in hand and her children shrinking back in fear…

I'd hardly dared touch it, before. But now I approached, breathing deep, lowering my brow to meet the cold stone.

"You did what you had to do, maman. I know." I couldn't tell if it was the thrum of the door or my own heartbeat I heard, pulsing in my ears. "So am I. You lived your life without regrets and now – " A tight, hard swallow. "Now you're gone."

I squeezed my eyes shut, pushed tears free. "… Isn't it my turn?"

A low groan in response, a scraping. I stumbled in as the door opened before me, blinking away my tears, red eyes meeting mine.

"Luke."

A delighted bark. He took a few steps closer before plopping his bottom to the ground, gazing at me with head tilted and one ear half-folded.

I sunk to my knees before him laughing, whispering. "Hi, boy."

_Hi, maman._

He leapt for me, danced around me, washed my face with slobbering kisses and gave little whimpers as I wrapped my arms around him giggling in turn. "Lukey-pookey. Good boy, _good_ dog."

"We are not your pet's _minders_."

_Oh, shit._

I stood slowly, wary of my posture as I glanced up to meet Ocheeva's narrowed eyes. No longer did she wear the leather armour the others did – black robes now, the same as the Black Hand wore at their meeting. A Speaker, herself. She shook her head slowly, a flicker of disgust in flaring nares.

"A gift from beyond the void that _twice_ now you have abandoned here, that you do not appreciate."

I pursed my lips, finding Luke's head to give him a scratch. "… You're right. I haven't, but I should." A small smile down at him and he seemed to respond in canine kind, tongue lolling, tail rubbing the floor. He deserved better than I'd given him. "Is – Is Antoinetta…?"

"Antoinetta is on contract."

Another day, then. Another day, I'd make it up to her. But… "Is Lucien here?"

I could almost feel the ice of her anger, her scorn. "The _Listener_," a pointed hiss, "Has departed for the time being. Your work is beneath his notice. You serve this Sanctuary. If you have concerns, alchemist, they will go through me."

We'd gained an audience, now. Vicente, Teinaava and M'raaj-Dar, apparently mid-conversation leaving the dining room, slowed at the sight of us. All of them Family and me…

Myself.

Dammit, _myself_, and maybe I could finally have pride in that again. In not belonging.

"Ocheeva." I spoke softly, respectfully, but using her name rather than her title was enough to earn a glare. Teinaava seemed stunned, M'raaj-Dar incensed, Vicente expressionless at a glance. "I understand that this is not my home. That I'm an outsider."

"Indeed." Crisp and cold and maybe before, I would have shrunk back. Afraid to tug on the chains, but now…

"But I care about him, too. All of them. Almost as much as you do."

The silence was glass, still and cold and so very fragile, threatening to shatter. Ocheeva let out a low, long breath, staring at me wide-eyed. Angry? Shocked at my impertinence?

I didn't find out. A polite bow and I turned, leaving them behind with Luke at a trot behind me. A shiver down my back as the stone door rumbled shut behind me, cementing what I'd done.

There'd be backlash for that. I had no doubt. It was the truth – and what a rush of power, to accept that, that I could care for them and not be one of them, not belong to them – but I'd spoken out of turn, not as expected for a servant.

But, well…

In their eyes, I was a servant. A prisoner.

In mine…

That was rather up to _me_ to decide, wasn't it?

Humming, I made my way home.


	70. Chapter Seventy

**Author's Note:** Thank you guys again, a thousand times, for your patience. Things are getting back to normal in terms of the pandemic where I live, but unfortunately we lost a good few employees, so the rest of us are picking up the slack. And, admittedly, the closer we get to the end of DTD, the more nervous I get to post. :P But we'll get there. Again, thank every single one of you for reading, for sharing your thoughts, and for sticking with me this long. Stay healthy and stay safe!

* * *

How strange for life to feel normal again.

Well, maybe 'normal' was a strong word. Normal had left months and months ago, when it all began with my mother's dagger at my throat. But there was routine again and to my relief, some peace of mind.

I was still bound, of course, as sure as my blood still stained that parchment I'd marked as a tithe so long ago. I made their poisons, swallowing back guilt, and delivered them faithfully.

But I no longer felt the weight of their chains, of maman's burden on my shoulders. It hurt to think of her – it would never _not _hurt – but at last, stark grief began to soften into something kinder. I could think of her with a smile, now. Remember those times she'd scold me in front of Toltette while giving me a wink, or when she'd pretend not to see me sneaking supper after I'd been sent to bed without. Remember her so proud over my first attempts at potions, so wistful when I'd play and sing for her.

In turn, doing my father's work – no, _my _work now – no longer felt so inadequate. I couldn't be him, true. I couldn't, wouldn't deny the Brotherhood - I wanted to live. But I'd do what I loved, help who I could, feeling a ghost of an echo of his hands over mine holding the pestle.

At least, some of the time. Of course it couldn't all be fun in the laboratory. For now I was at my counter, evening beginning to glow outside as I began at last working in earnest on my ledger. I'd spent most of my day downstairs, examining and working with those miraculous vials of water.

By all rights, they were nothing more than that. Vials of distilled water. But _how? _No traces of magicka residue in them, so no enchantment powered the pool…

_Focus, Dust._ I smiled to myself, brought out of my daydreaming by a groan from Luke at my feet. His eyes didn't open, but he tilted his head happily into my hand for a scratch –

Only to whine piteously when it ended much too soon for his tastes. The tinkle of the door chime. I stood, putting on my now well-practiced smile and hoping my hands weren't blotted with ink. "Good evening! Can I help - oh!"

Astarill stood in the foyer, slowly taking in the shop before inclining his head towards me. His lips parted, but before he could return the greeting Luke was on him – sniffing, whoofing, practically _dancing_ around him and most of all eagerly nosing whatever he held in a small sack cloth.

"Luke! Down – get _down_!" A glare and he slunk off with a whimper, head low to the ground. I shook my head with a grin. "I – I guess he's happy to see you again. That or whatever you've got, there. Your supper?"

Was that a flicker of a smile I saw? If so, it vanished as quickly as it came. He strode towards me, placing the item down on the table with an audible thump. Thank gods – his movement didn't seem hindered by the wound he'd taken. It had healed well. "Will you work with ingredients from the undead?"

Was _that_ what was in there? I frowned, nodding. Unceremoniously he opened the sack to pull out a jar. I caught a glimpse of mottled red, sickly green –

I hadn't _meant_ to snatch the jar right out of his hands like that. I'd done it before I'd even realized it, jaw hanging, tracing the glass and peering at the contents from every angle in the light. "A – a ghoul heart?" I grazed my fingertips over the glass, breath held. "This is – you brought me a _ghoul heart_?"

All I got in return was a quirked brow and an immediate flicker of heat, embarrassment. A tight swallow. "Sorry – sorry. I didn't – _oh!"_ I thrust the jar back at him. "It's just, it's very rare in this province. I've never seen one, not even back at the University and, _oh_ – " Unable to resist I peered into the glass again, chewing my lip. The chance to work with something so rare, so potent – it took all my willpower not to grab it back and run straight to the laboratory_. _"That one looks so _fresh_!"

"… Yes." Deadpan he placed the jar back on the table, straightening. "In Morrowind, the hearts are used to develop an antivenin to the ghoul's bite. Can you do that?"

I could almost see the page I once studied behind my eyes, the sketch of the heart a pale comparison to the real thing as I recalled the particulars. "There is – a gland, in the heart, that as I recall releases the antivenin to prevent the ghoul from poisoning itself. But it can also cause…"

"Paralyzation, yes," The Altmer interrupted, a touch impatient as he placed a hand atop the jar, fingers drumming. "Are you able to avoid that outcome?"

I chewed my lip for a moment, considering the possibilities. If I did this wrong, the results could be disastrous both for me and my former partner. But the thought of the challenge, of the chance to examine and extract the essence of an ingredient so very rare…

"I believe I can." It would take all my concentration for a few days, but I trusted in my own skill, my focus for something like this. It felt _good_ to trust in myself again. "Give me two – no, three days. I'll test it and ensure the paralyzing venom is completely neutralized when I'm done."

A beat, then he gave a stoic nod, releasing his hold on the jar for me to scoop it up. Such a silly thing to be so thrilled about, but – what was it Antoinetta had once called me? A scholar, so disdainfully?

… I was theirs, the Dark Brotherhood's alchemist. But I was still _me_, too. I could still find joy in this work, I could have both if I was willing to fight for it. A shiver of relief and I beamed at the Altmer.

"Three hundred and fifty gold." The offer came coolly, a satchel shifted to his front. "Half now, half on successful completion of the antivenin."

A swell of guilt. It was a good offer, fully appropriate for the amount of work involved, but…

"… No."

A brow arched hard, questioning. "Is that unfair?"

"No, I mean…" I bit my lip, putting the jar back down to wring my hands. "… In the cave, you saved me from the constructs. And if I had been paying closer attention, you never would have been injured." Another moment of thought before I straightened, meeting his gaze. "Two-hundred, on completion. Not a Septim more."

A frown of confusion was wiped neatly away, expression deadpan once more as he surveyed the shop front. "… Seems a poor business practice."

I grinned. "Call it a Mages Guild discount."

There was a half a smile there before he nodded. "I'll leave you to it."

"Thank you." I resisted the urge to scoop up the jar again, wanting to wait until he was at least out the door. Then - couldn't I afford to close shop early? That tingle of excitement, the allure of alchemical mysteries beckoned. _Just this once –_

But as Astarill left, another customer pushed past him through the threshold. _One more, then,_ I promised myself. _Then I can get to work._ I tried not to make a face at the dirt he tracked in, smiling politely once more. "Good evening, sir! How can I – " A familiar face, an Orc, bulky and tall with a wide smile as he made his way towards the counter leaving muddy footprints in his wake. Then _around_ it, unperturbed by my stare. "… Um…"

"Nice little shop you've got going, here."

"Thank you." I knew him, didn't I? Yes, he'd been at the – the party. Where we'd performed the contract, where I'd held Voranil's head in my hands as he died. A thorny swallow as I edged back, trying to keep from shrinking, trying to keep my voice firm as I eyed the mess he'd left behind him. "Sir, if you don't mind, customers are meant to be in _front_ of the counter – "

"Nah, I don't mind." He didn't move, drawling as he propped a hand up on the wall behind me, towering, looming. My heart hammered, jaw tight as I stared up. _What does he want? Why is he…?_

"I know what you did to Voranil."

My blood ran cold.

"I didn't, I – " Choking back the stammer, _don't panic, you can't look panicked_ – "I don't know what you mean. At the party? When I was trying to heal him?"

"Trying_ not_ to."

I felt the blood drain from my face, felt my legs go weak. "I did the best I could." He couldn't know. He was bluffing – but how did he even know to bluff? _Why –_

"Think you're the only one who knows a little magic, girlie?" A sudden heat at my cheek as in his hand a little gout of flame formed, hovering, threatening. I could almost smell the ends of my hair singeing. "Think only you pasty little Bretons can feel it?"

"N-_no_ – "

"That moron Bazur saw you fiddling with Voranil's cup. Didn't talk 'bout it until recently, and that's when I put two and two together. Figured y'just couldn't heal him, but it wasn't that, was it?" The flame, painfully bright, made me squint and flinch away. "I felt it in the air, unchanneled. It was all just a show."

He'd felt it, he _knew._ I'd let my magicka run to pretend, but never channeled it, never really let it enter. Voranil had been beyond my healing – why try? Why extend his suffering?

But I'd never thought –

"Yeah, I thought so." A low chuckle, coarse and gravelly as he leaned in closer still. I felt so small, all the confidence I'd scrounged since my time with the cultists wrenched from me with every passing second under his stare. "So who do you work for, huh? Who sent you?"

"I…"

"The Tong found another distributer, got a smoke-skin so they don't need us no more? Or them in Bravil 'wantin to move up North?"

I kept my mouth firmly shut.

A low chuckle. "Smoke-skins, ain't it? Trying to take the profit out from under our business, cut us off like a dead limb. Guess it don't matter, really. What _matters_…" And here came that leer again, that flame fizzling out of his meaty hand so he could clap it on my shoulder. "Is that you work for _us_, now."

"_What?"_

"You owe us. Took our best customer. You're gonna pay that debt _back_, girlie. We need an alchemist, and you a local, too. We'll get you the moonsugar, you'll whip up our favourite sweet and if you think, for a _second_, about going to the guards…"

The flame flickered now in his other hand, dangerously close to the counter – to the jar with the ghoul heart. I stiffened but his grip stopped me, clenching my shoulder hard enough to bruise. "Well, yours won't be the first business I've burned to th'ground. And you can't afford to get the law involved, can you?" That vile grin. "Nowhere t'turn, girlie."

_No._

_No, no, no, no, no!_

Not again. I would _not_ be bound, be made a prisoner again, I would sooner let him burn me and my livelihood to ashes. I was finally myself again, finally finding my way again and there was no way I was going to allow this toothy bastard to take that away from me, _never _again –

The fury must have shown on my face. I _know _it did how I seethed, how I grit my teeth and glared venom up at his yellow eyes. A snicker, the Orc dismissing his flame and giving a mocking shrug. "Sorry, girlie. You dug your own grave. Not much choice, is there?"

Perception and creation, alteration and alchemy.

If there wasn't a choice, I would _make_ there be a gods damned choice.

I whistled. A blink of confusion on the Orc's face, then the click of claws on wood. Luke had obediently stayed in the other room where I'd sent him, a sulking pup, but now…

Eyes aglow crimson, teeth bared, maw wide. With his hackles raised and face contorted in rage, he was truly the creature maman had sent to protect me. The Orc lurched back from me, both hands raised with shimmering flame. The clatter of glass, as in his hurry to get away he whacked the shelf behind the counter, sending a few vials toppling, crashing.

"_What_ in Malacath's name!? –"

"You hurt me – you so much as singe one of my hairs – and he'll have your throat out before you can scream."

A swell of malicious satisfaction at the fear in his eyes, the tremble in that square jaw. Luke stalked closer still, head low, a deep growl leaving his chest. Confident now, I stood taller, approaching to force the Orc out from behind the counter, back towards the door as he snarled. "This ain't over, you little _shit_."

"Thank you for your patronage. If you decide to drop by again, _please_ be sure to mind your bloody manners." Step by step he moved away, menaced not by me in my small fury but by the threat of Luke so nearby. A word from me, and he'd be on him. Luke gave a threatening, throaty rumble as I kept on my path, eyes narrowed. "Oh, and one more thing."

I had him at the door now. He reached behind himself for the handle, tugging it open while his gaze flickered between me and the hound.

"Next time, _wipe your fucking feet_."

What a satisfying sound, the slam of the door in his face.

_Gods._ I locked the door and sank to my knees, suddenly drained as the adrenaline that had pumped hot through me evaporated. Breathing hard, trembling, almost ready to keel over until Luke barreled towards me whimpering.

"Lukey –" I sputtered through a wet kiss before hugging him hard, letting his bulk carry my weight. The terrifying creature of Sithis was gone – once more he was my dog, my loyal canine companion, nosing my ear and rubbing his cheek against mine. "_Good _boy. I'm okay, Luke, really. We'll be okay."

… _Would_ we?

What just happened began to sink in. Someone knew I had – what I had done. The smugglers, the suppliers for Voranil's skooma addiction. They could go turn me in and –

No. No, they wouldn't go to the guards if they could help it. They had no proof beyond their word, and there were enough rumours around the gang that they'd be hard to believe. And to incriminate me, they'd have to implicate_ themselves_ too.

But the threat remained, my cheek still hot where the flame had hovered so close. I touched it gently, one arm still tight around Luke as he crooned.

… _What do I do?_

_I could go to the Brotherhood. I could… no._ I quashed that idea the moment it formed, jaw setting. I cared for them as individuals, but I wanted as little involvement in the Brotherhood's workings as possible, now. I was already bound to them, already indebted simply for my life. I wouldn't let that chain hold tighter. Besides, they would only solve it with bloodshed. As much as I seethed at the Orc, how he'd tried to intimidate me, I didn't want any more death on my hands.

_Then what?_

A moment longer of worry, of feeling sorry for myself before I used Luke to help me get to my feet. He rubbed up against me grinning wide, stubby tail a blur when I reached to scratch his head. _I won't figure it out sitting on the floor, frightened out of my mind._ I had to clean up the mess that bastard had made – muddy tracks on the floor, a few vials broken on the floor behind my counter. I could think while I mopped.

_And besides_ – my gaze strayed to the thankfully unharmed jar, a faint smile warming me. _I have work to do. _

Possibilities came to mind as I began to sweep up shards of glass. Smugglers, skooma dealers. If I went to the guard, I'd be dead or incriminated myself by the time evidence was found and a case declared against them. But if I could have them caught red-handed…

Ideas swirled, some nonsense, some perhaps worth playing through. A mental thanks to whom I now thought of as the Prince of ideas both ridiculous and genius – for how could there be one without the other?

_This is my little world. And I'll shape things how I see fit. _


End file.
